


My Sunshine

by 07536832



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, High School, IBasicallyMadeUpAWholeOtherWorldInMyMindAndNowIHaveToTryAndExplainItToYou, M/M, OOC Rachel, Puckleberry Friendship, Samchel Friendship, VeryDetailedFic, super powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/07536832/pseuds/07536832
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray meet at a school designed for 'unique' kids. The two immediately dislike each other, but it seems as if fate continuously forces them together. With the pressures of her new life, will Rachel be able to deal with her budding feelings for Quinn? And will Quinn finally let her walls down and allow someone a glimpse of her heart? Faberry with a whopping side of Brittana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> If this story seems familiar to anyone it's because it was originally posted by me on fanfiction.net under the same author name and same story name. I've just moved it to AO3. This will be updated soon.

When I woke up this morning, I expected the worst. I've always expected the worst ever since I learned that I was different from everyone else. But I don't mean the usual different, if there even is such a thing; I mean the ' _really_ different'. The spectacularly fucked up kind of different. The kind that changed my entire life.

I, Rachel Barbra Berry, used to be an outgoing, opinionated diva that was often labeled 'annoying' by her fellow classmates. At the time I didn't understand why people thought I was annoying. I mean sure, I had a tendency to ramble, was painfully enthusiastic and always wanted the solos in Glee club but I didn't think that translated into annoying. Boy was I kidding myself. Looking back now I don't know how people could even stand to be around me. If, by some miracle, my personality wasn't off-putting enough, my wardrobe would have picked up the slack. Seriously, those hideous sweaters, knee high socks and semi revealing skirts, ugh. What was I thinking? I can't really blame the students who threw slushies in my face on a daily basis, I kind of deserved it.

But I digress; my point is I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm more guarded, apathetic, skeptical, and not to mention better dressed (thank God). And it's all because I'm different.

Oh the things I would give to be a 'normal' kind of different. To have arms of different lengths, or to be colorblind. What's that saying about not knowing what you had until it's gone? Well that's how I feel about my life. Though it was far from perfect I at least knew what was going on, unlike now, I knew who to trust and who to avoid. I had two dads who loved me unconditionally, and didn't cringe every time I had a bad day. I had my whole life planned out, and now? Now, I try not to think past the current day.

I wish there was someone or something to blame for my, uh, condition, but to be honest I don't even know where it originated from. All that I know for sure is that it's a major pain in my ass! Do you realize how difficult it is to try and keep your emotions in check 24/7? It's damn hard! Especially for Rachel Barbra Berry. Conversations gone awry can lead to broken objects. Fear can lead to entire rooms being rearranged, and anger can lead to injured people. All of which have happened at one time or another.

I suppose I could place the blame on the girl who brought my condition to the surface, the one who made me realize exactly how different I am; the captain of the Cheerios and HBIC of McKinley High School.

I remember it like it happened yesterday. It was my junior year on a Monday, a week before we got out for Winter Break and I was in my normal attire, meaning an unsightly sweater and a little skirt with my hair pulled back in a headband. I was in an uncharacteristically bad mood due to the news I'd just received from my fathers that they wanted to move down south because of a job opportunity for daddy. Being the diva I was, I stormed out and didn't even wait for them to finish explaining that we wouldn't be moving until after I graduated. Oops.

So I arrived at school, already upset, and was met with a slushie to the face at my locker. On a normal day I could have reined in my emotions long enough to make it to the safety of a bathroom but that day was not normal. Not only was I still pissed about the conversation that took place earlier that morning, but it was also that time of the month for me.

I slowly wiped my eyes of the drink that was beginning to sting them and felt the anger bubble inside me. _Why me? What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?_ I thought to myself. Once I got most of the slushie from my eyes I opened them only to be met with the unmistakable red and white uniform of a Cheerio. A closer look revealed the owner of that uniform to be none other than Kitty Wilde, Head Cheerio and HBIC. She had an empty cup in her hand and a scowl on her face.

This was new to me.

No, not being slushied, but the look she was giving me. I was used to seeing smirks or hearing laughter after a slushie attack, but never had I seen anger. Kitty looked like she was about two seconds away from hitting me…and then precisely two seconds later I felt a stinging sensation on my left cheek. At first I didn't register what happened. Gradually I heard 'ohhs' coming from all around me and the stinging feeling changed to burning. Whether it was from the pain or from anger I don't know, but the next thing I knew Kitty was in my face yelling at me.

I wasn't listening as she yelled, what was running through my mind was, _I just got slapped. Kitty Wilde hit me… in front of the whole school. And now she's yelling at me and no one is doing anything to stop it._ It was in that moment that I felt pure rage, and not just towards Kitty. It was directed at everyone. Everyone who gathered around to watch out of interest or curiosity; everyone else who turned a blind eye to what was happening right in front of their face; and all the teachers who pretended bullying didn't exist at McKinley and that students just enjoyed being showered in cold drinks.

"-and if you ever try that crap again I will end you!" I heard Kitty finish.

To this day I still have no idea what Kitty was talking about but those last words sparked something inside me. I felt a sudden jolt. It was similar that feeling you get when you're dreaming and fall off something but then wake simultaneously as you hit the ground. That's what I felt, but on the inside.

The last thing that went through my mind before my life completely changed was, _I'm about to hit the HBIC._

My hand twitched at my side, balling in and out of a fist, as I prepared to raise it. I had a glare on my face that could have given Kitty's a run for her money. All my focus was on her mouth, which was right where I wanted to hit her. None of that girlie slapping bullshit, I wanted to full on punch her.

The very moment I decided to fully raise my fist something strange happened. Out of nowhere the locker Kitty was standing by flew open, hitting her directly in the face.

Kitty stumbled backwards, clutching at her face with wide eyes. She slowly removed her hands from her mouth and noticed the blood there, the shock evident on her face. A split second later her expression changed to one of anger.

"You're gonna regret that," she growled before taking a menacing step forward.

Once again just a second before I raised my fist (I was still fuming and had every intention of hitting her, even after the rogue locker incident) another locker jerked open, and then another. And then all the lockers on the row opened. I heard gasps from all the students who were gathered around us. I glanced at Kitty, who looked just as surprised as the others, and then quickly turned my attention back to the lockers. Not only did they suddenly open, but they were also moving around on their hinges. It appeared as if a strong wind was coming down both ends of the hallway and the lockers were fighting on which way to blow but the wind was blowing equally as strong from both ends and they were in a stalemate, only moving about an inch to either side.

As I, and every other student within viewing range, continued to stare at the lockers with slack jaws, I rapidly became aware of my body and how tense it'd grown since the slap. My arms felt like they weighted a ton and my head seemed like it was too big for my body and would roll off my shoulders at any moment. I couldn't even feel my legs and there was an odd tingling in my stomach.

Unexpectedly a gruff voice sounded from behind me, and I quickly spun around. Abruptly the lockers stopped shaking and I heard a man ask, "What's going on over here?"

The last thing I remember was the feeling of being stuck in quicksand and unable to move. After that it was all black.

I was later told I had fainted at the feet of the principle. How embarrassing.

After that I knew I was different, I knew that I was the cause of what happened in the hallway that day, and not a random breeze as other students seemed to think. Kitty never said anything to me after that. I still received glares in the halls and from across the cafeteria, but apart from that we had no contact. I suspect she knew that it was me as well but didn't say anything to anyone in fear of not being believed.

In the weeks following what I dubbed ' _the incident_ ', I did tons of research in hope of figuring out exactly what happened that day. I eventually came to the conclusion that I was telekinetic and could move objects without touching them. Everything I read about it fit perfectly with what happened with _the incident_. Intense emotions, a shock traveling through the body, what happens when concentration is broken. It all made sense, every last bit of it.

Once I knew what happened and how it happened, I started trying to keep my emotions in check. It seemed like since I figured it out though, everything felt more extreme. Like when I should have been happy, I was ecstatic, and when I should have just been irritated, I was infuriated. It was like all my emotions were taken and multiplied by 100, which made it that much harder to control them.

One day during the spring, I lost control again. It was the only other time it happened since _the incident_ , and it happened right in front of my dads. We were sitting around the dinner table eating vegan lasagna, and daddy commented about my change in attitude.

At this point it had been over three months since _the incident_ , and my attitude had definitely changed. Before the craziness began I used to be longwinded, I could take a simple 'yes or no' answer and turn it into a verbal essay. Afterwards I was simple and direct, straight to the point. I also used to be cheerful and positive, always looking for the silver lining in things, but afterwards I was bordering on cynical. On the plus side of my changes, I got an entirely new wardrobe; no more repulsive sweaters and short skirts for me. In their place were 'normal people' clothes, as some kid so delicately put it. I wore the standard dark colored skinny jeans, and form fitting tee-shirts with a leather jacket thrown over it. I almost never straightened my hair anymore; instead I left it in its natural curl. Only a blind and deaf person wouldn't notice how my entire demeanor changed, and daddy was neither of those things.

"Are you okay sweetie? You've seemed a bit off lately," daddy said to me from across the table.

I glanced up from my lasagna and gave him a weak smile, "I've just been feeling a little sick," I lied, hoping he'd let it go.

He looked to dad with an unreadable expression on his face as they silently conversed. After a few moments they both looked to me. Shit.

"Are you sure sweetheart? You've been off for a while now, a few months actually. Did something happen? Is there something you want to tell us?"

Remember how I said all my emotions were intensified? Well at that moment I should have felt annoyed because daddy wouldn't drop the subject, but thanks to my condition I was quickly getting angry.

_Calm down Rachel, rein it in. This is nothing to get upset over. He's just worried about you. Deep breaths Rachel think about Barbra in Funny Girl. Think happy thoughts._

Unfortunately, thinking about Barbra only made things worse.

_That's the kind of life I'll never have! My dreams of Broadway have vanished! I'll never be able to get up on stage and perform now, not with all this shit happing to me._

I carelessly threw my fork onto the plate and sat up straighter, eyeing my fathers.

"What do you mean ' _off'_?" I questioned defiantly. _Damn it Rachel, shut up!_

Dad took over the line of questioning. "What he- um we, mean is you seemed to changed quite a bit over the last few months," he said cutting his eyes over to daddy briefly before looking back at me.

"You're just different is all, your hair, your clothes, your behavior. It's all changed and without a notable cause."

_Okay Rachel, this could quickly get out of hand. Don't say anything else, just excuse yourself from the table and go to your room. Yes, it will hurt them right now but in the long run it's best._

"So, what? I need an excuse now as to why I decided to stop dressing like a ten year old? I need a reason why I prefer my hair curly instead of straight? There has to be something wrong because I finally realized how _fucked_ this world is and how pointless it is to be try and be hopeful!" _Shit. Too much. Should have walked out._

I had gradually shifted forward to where I was leaning over my forgotten lasagna and my voice had rose considerably since the start of my mini rant. (It seemed some things didn't change)

My dads just stared at me, disbelief written all over their faces. I sat there willing myself to calm down.

Dad recovered first and spoke up. "Rachel Barbra Berry! You know we do not tolerate that kind of language in this household! What has gotten into you?"

_Oh crap. There's that jolt again._

"How dare you ask what's gotten into me as if it's something I can control," I yelled. Suddenly the dishes on the table began to shake. Or maybe it was the table that was moving…either way my fathers' looks of surprise morphed into ones of confusion and then fear.

I imagine my expression must have been frightening on its own, but couple that with the shaking objects and they were probably downright terrified.

I banged my fists down on the table and the plates rose. With alarmed eyes my dads watched the china float overhead and then be slung into the wall. I no longer felt like myself. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, watching someone else take control of my body and do with it what they pleased. My limbs had the same feeling as the first time, my arms heavy and my legs nonexistent.

"If I could control this don't you think I would?!" Another dish rose and flew into the wall. Daddy flinched closer to dad and grabbed his hand.

"Rachel," daddy started to say but trailed off when he realized there was nothing he could say in this particular situation to make things better.

I stared at my fathers as they shrank into each other, terrified of their own daughter. I felt a pang of guilt at the sight and my anger slowly slipped away, only to be replaced by remorse.

I spent the next hour and a half apologizing profusely and explaining what I could to my fathers. Strangely they took it well. After the initial shock of it wore off, they seemed to accept my condition. They definitely didn't like it, but they did accept it. They also told me that they loved me no matter what but I couldn't help but notice how they both flinched before they drew me into a hug.

After that ill-fated spring day, I started having more outbursts; my emotions continually got the best of me. People around school started to notice the strange things that happened around me and avoided me like the plague. All sorts of rumors spread (though I didn't most of them) about me and how much of a freak I was. Truthfully I was, to a certain extent, glad people left me alone. I no longer had to deal with slushie facials or the unavoidable explosions that accompanied them. Everything was beginning to smooth out for me…until the new kid showed up.

The strangest thing about the new kid (besides his abnormal mouth to face ratio) was the fact that I was attracted to him, and no not in the way you're thinking. I'm not even into guys like that.

What I mean is, whenever he's around I feel something pulling at me. Something telling me he's different, maybe even like me.

He was my assigned lab partner in physics (because my old lab partner dumped me after all the rumors started) and he introduced himself as Sam. He was a good guy from what I could tell; he wasn't the brightest and he did horrible imitations of celebrities, but overall he seemed decent. Besides the peculiar pull I felt towards him, there was something else odd about him. He seemed to always be watching me, whether it was head-on or out of the corner of his eye. He also seemed to always know where I was when I felt a sudden burst of emotion. He would come out of nowhere and do shitty impressions to make me laugh or at least calm me down. For that I was thankful and decided to accept his friendship and not push him away.

Big mistake, no gigantic mistake, wait, no, colossal mistake.

I feel like such an idiot now because I didn't realize something was up sooner. I should have known from the way he was always watching me. If I had put two and two together sooner I wouldn't be where I am at this moment, reflecting on all the things that have happened to lead up to this point.

Here I am, sitting in the back of a creeper van with handcuffs on my wrists and some sort of sedative coursing through my veins. Sam is up front driving, casting wary glances in the rearview mirror, trying to explain to me why this had to be done.

I tune him out.

Instead I keep playing back everything that happened in the last 15 minutes in my head.

All the yelling I did when my fathers announced that Sam was taking me away; the guilt ridden faces of my fathers as tears streamed from my eyes and down my cheeks. The distinctive jolt I felt before everything in our living room began flying around; the sudden fog that overwhelmed my senses before I fell limply into Sam's arms. The feeling of being half carried half dragged out to the van where I helplessly watched as my daddy leaned dejectedly onto my dad's shoulder and cried, and as Sam quietly assured them that I would be taken care of.

I feel my butt starting to fall asleep so I shift slightly. Sam takes it as invitation to begin talking again.

"How are you feeling Rachel? Are you okay," he inquires.

That was probably the dumbest thing he's ever asked, so I don't even feel inclined to respond.

 _Of course I'm not okay! I've just been drugged and kidnapped! God Sam, I knew you weren't Einstein but seriously?_ I think to myself. _This must be a new record for most stupid question asked._

We ride in silence for another 20 minutes before I decide to take the plunge.

"Where are we going," I ask bitterly.

Sam pulls up to a stoplight and turns around in his seat to face me. With a small smile on his face he replies, "Somewhere people like us belong." And with that he turns back around and continues driving.

_Well I've always expected the worst ever since I discovered my condition. But I never in a million years would have expected this._


	2. Apple Pie

The next several hours pass silently. After Sam's vague answer to where we were going, I mull over what he could possibly mean.

What is this place for people like me…us? Is Sam a freak too? Can he do what I can or can he do something else? How many others are like us? Surely there can't be too many since I've never heard of any incidents involving things this strange. I mean, I've heard of people who can apparently bend spoons with their minds but that's a bunch of bullshit that always get uncovered as a scam. Hmm, I wonder if I could bend a spoon without touching it. With my luck I'd probably lose control and someone else would lose an eye.

My mind continues to wonder aimlessly while I rotate my wrists trying to keep the blood circulating, something the handcuffs were determined to stop.

Wait, what? Where the hell did these come from? I don't remember them being put on. The fu— oh yeah, Sam put them on me when I was drugged up and semi-conscious. And to think, I used to consider him a friend. Bastard.

Before I know it, it's dark out and Sam is navigating through a parking lot attached to some neglected motel. With my head all over the place I forgot to ask Sam where we were _actually_ going. I haven't got the slightest clue as to where we might be. I wasn't even paying attention to what direction we headed when we left my neighborhood. Not that I could really be blamed for that on account of being unwilling doped up.

Sam's door slams and I glance up to see him walking towards the lobby of the motel. Through the glass I spy an overweight man in grimy overalls sporting an enormous beer-belly sitting behind the front desk. Sam gives him a curt nod and begins speaking with him. A few minutes later the back doors of the van swing open to display a cautious looking Sam. In his hands he holds two keys, one with a plastic number attached to it, which I'm sure is a room key, and the other a much smaller silver key. I'm pretty sure that's the one to my handcuffs.

I look up at him expectantly. "Well are you going to take these handcuffs off me or what?" I thrust my hands out in front of me, waiting to be released from the cold metal.

Sam inspects me closely, probably imagining all the possible outcomes of what could happen if he does.

"I don't know," he begins slowly. "If I take them off will you promise not to hurt me," he asks, and then throws in as an afterthought, "or run?"

I scowl at the blonde boy before a look of irritability takes over my face.

"Sam," I growl, frustration lacing my words. "If I was going to run or hurt you I would have done it already. That shit you drugged me with wore off hours ago. If I really wanted, you'd be flat on your ass on the other side of the parking lot by now."

He considers my words for a moment before reluctantly leaning in and undoing my cuffs.

Luckily he doesn't know that I don't have any control over my condition, or he would have seen right through my lie. Thank God he's blonde.

I stiffly climb out the back of the van and plant my feet on the ground. Grabbing my right arm with my left, I pull it across my chest until it makes a popping noise which echoes in the nearly empty parking lot. Repeating the motion with my other arm and then cracking my back I begin to feel less like a plank of wood.

"So where are we?"

Sam's face oozes confusion before he points directly above our heads to a sign that reads 'All Tucked Inn'.

"Not what I meant. Where are we _geographically_?"

The blonde's eyebrows only furrow deeper.

"What-state-are-we-in," I enunciate slowly, as if speaking to a little kid. Well actually, intelligence wise, that's probably an accurate analogy.

Little by little his expression changes into one of recognition. "Oh! We're in Georgia, just outside of Atlanta," he replies with a grin, happy that he understood the question.

"Humph," is all I offer in return. I glance around distastefully and take in my surrounding.

The parking lot is practically empty besides the van we came in, a truck parked right outside the lobby and two other cars parked further down. The motel looks rundown and if I'm being honest, it looks like the set to some teen horror film. You know, the one where the slutty cheerleader is the first to die, followed by the cocky jock and then the awkward but somehow likeable geek? And the only survivor is the sweet and innocent virgin girl, who only makes it out because of sheer luck? Yeah, those 50 films.

The lights in the parking lot flicker ominously overhead and Sam takes that as a sign to start off towards our motel room with me following silently behind him.

Once inside he flips on the lights and I scan the room. It looks like a pretty standard motel room with a double bed up against a wall in the middle, a dresser opposite of it with a small TV on top and two doors to either side of the bed, one leading to a small closet and the other to the bathroom.

Sam lets out a sigh and drops a bag and a suitcase onto the bed. Immediately I recognize my suitcase from home; it's the one I used when the Glee club went to New York.

"Where did you get that," I ask accusingly, pointing at the object in question.

Sam shifts his gaze to the bag and rubs the back of his neck guiltily. "Um. Your dads packed it with some clothes for you. They said it should be enough for you to get by but if you want new clothes there's enough money in the side pocket for that and anything else you might need."

I reach for the zipper on the side and sure enough, as soon as it's open, I see the distinctive faded green color. I pull out the wad (yes, an actual wad) of cash and count through it. I stop when I reach a thousand.

Running a hand through my hair, I exhale loudly and toss the money back into the pocket. I'll think about all this tomorrow. I'm beat just want to sleep. I regard Sam and then the bed… the only bed in the room.

As if he could read my mind he states, "I'll take the floor, you can have the bed."

I offer him a small grateful smile, but not too grateful because he still basically kidnapped me or whatever, before grabbing my suitcase and walking to the bathroom.

As soon as the door is shut I drop my luggage and turn to the mirror. I look like microwaved shit. And I still have no idea what's going on. But in this moment I'm too exhausted to even care. I'll just demand answers to all my questions in the morning when I can think straight.

Flicking my gaze back to the mirror I notice my eyes are still puffy from crying earlier and my cheeks are stained with what I'm sure is mascara and eyeliner. Not to mention my hair looks like a birds nest and I smell an odor that I'm pretty sure isn't coming from the bathroom. I suppose this is the look people had in mind when the saying 'you look like hell' came out.

In my suitcase I find a blue tank top and flannel pants that I dub suitable for sleep. Turning the water to an almost scalding temperature, I step in and let the droplets wash the events of the day away.

Standing stock-still in the shower my mind is blank. There are no thoughts, questions or fears about what's to come. There is no insatiable need to know everything that's going on. And most notably, there are no emotions, nothing to try and hold back. Nothing but me and the steady drumming of the water.

I don't know how long I've been standing here, motionless and uncomprehending, and honestly I don't know how long I would have stayed like that if not for the gentle knock on the door, snapping me back to reality. Sam asks if I'm okay, and I answer in the affirmative before shutting off the currently cold water.

I dress quickly and step out of the bathroom. Sam has already set up his spot on the floor. Next to the bed there lays a pillow and blanket that look like they belong to an elementary aged kid. The pillow has a person in a black mask on it, while the blanket has various people dressed in white on it along with a gold robot that looks like a human and a silver robot that just looks like a robot. And if I'm not mistaken I believe I also see a large furry beast wearing a sash and a little green alien in a robe. What the hell?

I cock an eyebrow at Sam and glance back at his spot on the floor, silently asking a question. He understands and quickly explains. "It's Star Wars," he says with a grin. "You know, Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca and Yoda?" He points to each character as he names them.

I slowly shake my head at him, indicating that I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Haven't you seen Star Wars?" The blonde's face is scrunched up as he asks.

"Nope," is my response, making a popping noise.

Sam looks baffled, as if I just told him there's no Santa Clause. "How have you _not_ seen Star Wars?"

_Then how do the presents get under the tree?_

"Uh, I've never sat down and watched it?" I walk over to the bed, careful not to step on the boy's precious blanket, and sit on the edge.

_Sweetie, your father and I put the presents under the tree._

"But that's like living in America and never eating a hot dog. It's like our national food or something. And if we had a national movie, it'd be Star Wars!"

_But who gets my Christmas list when you mail it to the North Pole?_

"Sam," I sigh, "I've never eaten a hot dog and I've never seen Star Wars."

_We don't actually send it to the North Pole honey. We just keep it._

Sam's eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head in a cartoonish manner.

"Never had a hot dog?" he mumbles more to himself than me. After a moment he breaks out in a smile, "But that's because you're a vegan. You can't eat hot dogs. But you have to have eaten apple pie before right? Because that's like our other national food."

I narrow my eyes at the blonde, "How do you know I'm a vegan?"

A fleeting look of confusion crosses Sam's face. That seems to be an almost default expression on the blonde.

"Uh, you've told me? Actually you've told entire classrooms before. Remember that time in Mr. Benson's class when we had to cut up those frogs? And you stood up and went on a rant about animal rights and stuff? You had to have mentioned being a vegan at least twenty times," he said with a chuckle.

I scrunch up my nose at the mention of that horrid day. Those poor frogs. Even after my outburst Mr. Benson carried on with the lesson like he didn't hear a word I said. That's how most people are; oblivious to my words. It's surprising to learn that Sam had actually listened to what I was saying.

"And that day in the cafeteria," the blonde continues, "You went up to the lunch lady and demanded that she give you a salad that had no meat or cheese on it. You two were arguing so loud that the whole room could hear it." Sam was grinning largely at the memory.

That lady had no right to refuse me food. It wasn't that I was being picky; I just didn't have anything to eat and was hungry.

Sam's face falls suddenly and it takes me a moment to realize why. That was the day I gave the students of McKinley a reason think I was even more of a freak than they originally thought. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was the day the entire student body turned its back on me once and for all.

My anger at the lunch lady got the best of me and it ended with her covered in whatever soup she was serving that day. Unfortunately there was no random breeze to explain away that incident.

"Sam, what the hell is wrong with me," I question glumly.

The blonde snaps his head up with a serious expression. "There's nothing _wrong_ with you Rachel. You're just different," he pauses, " _We_ are just different."

He must have sensed that I was about to launch into an endless number of question when he adds, "I promise that I'll explain everything to you tomorrow on the way, but for now we need sleep. No offense but you look like you belong in a zombie movie."

"Fine," I huff and stand up to pull back the comforter on the bed. "But answer me this one question," I insist.

Sam is already on the floor on his makeshift bed when he peers up and me and answers, "Okay, what?"

"Where are we going? And I'd like a real answer this time." I'm laying down now and looking straight up at the ceiling.

I can hear Sam expel a short laugh from beside the bed before he answers. "Florida. We're going to a school in Florida that's filled with people like us."

"What do y—"

"Nope," Sam interrupts, "That was your one question. No more until the A.M."

I can tell he's smiling just from the sound of his voice. I can probably get away with asking a few more questions but truthfully I'm too tired to for all that right now. Instead I reach over and turn off the light that's next to the bed.

With a small sigh I roll over and close my eyes. Just before I drift off I hear Sam whisper my name.

"Hmm," is all I can manage.

Still whispering he states, "You never answered my question."

"What question," I mumble sleepily. Is this a dream? Am I dreaming?

"Have you ever had apple pie?"

What the hell? When did he ever ask me about apple pie?

"Rachel," he questions again.

"Yes Sam, I've eaten apple pie," is my muffled reply. "Now please let me sleep."

And a few seconds later all was quiet again and I fall off into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a random side note, I've never seen Star Wars but from my understanding everyone is supposed to have seen it… IDK, it just seemed like a Sam thing since he's kind of nerdy like that. Also I plan on reveling Sam's 'power' in the next chapter; I'd be cool to hear what you guys think it might be. I haven't really hinted on it but it definitely makes sense with his personality on Glee. I'm sorry if this chapter seems a little pointless. I only wrote it to show the growing bond between Sam and Rachel. Next chapter will a little more entertaining, and the one after that is when things really start to kick off.   
> Oh, and ten points to whoever spots the Skins reference(:


	3. Barbra

Sam and I wake up bright and early the next morning. Well actually bright isn't an accurate description, more like we woke up at the ass-crack of dawn. We stumble around in the dimly lit room, just barely conscious, trying to get ready and gather our things. We pull out of the motel parking lot by 6:30 and I'm fully awake by 7. This time Sam didn't lock me up in the back of his van; I ride up front in the passenger seat. Progress.

"Sam?"

"Yeah," he answers, glancing at me quickly before focusing back on the road.

My stomach responds before I can with a low growl, which gets a chuckle out of Sam and a look of embarrassment from me.

"Hungry huh?" he asks with a knowing grin. "Me too. We can make a quick detour. We probably won't make it to the school until later this evening so we should fill up now."

"This evening?" I inquire. "I thought you said we were going to Florida. Surely we aren't," I stop midsentence to calculate. "Eleven hours from there. We're in Georgia right now."

"We're going way down to the bottom of Florida. Towards the Keys."

I try but can't keep the excitement from my voice. "The Keys?! We're going to the Keys?" I have always wanted to go there, granted, under different circumstances but I'll take what I can get.

Sam chuckles and bobs his head, "The school is on its own private island about ten miles from Key West. It's like a 20 minute ferry ride. We have privacy from nosy people, but we're still close enough to Key West to sneak out occasionally and have a night on the town." Sam glances at me again and gives a conspiring wink.

I shake my head at his antics and look out the window to see if there are any suitable places to eat. Questions and conversations can wait a little bit longer. I need food in my stomach before I can function properly.

* * *

Ten minutes later we're idling outside of a fast food restaurant in the drive-thru line. Thankfully this place has fruit on the menu. I'm pulling out some money to pay for my half of the meal when Sam gives me a soft smile and tells me to put my money away. "It's on me. I feel bad about everything that happened yesterday."

My lips curve up slightly and I put my money away. "You know, if you really want to make it up to me, you'll tell me what's wrong with me."

Sam starts to reply but is interrupted by a paper bag that's thrust through the open window. Sam grabs the bag and the smoothie and gives them to me before pulling out into traffic.

"I told you last night Rachel, there's nothing wrong with you. You're just different."

I snort into my smoothie, which by the way, tastes like heaven. "By today's standards, being different means something is wrong with you, sooo, Potato Pah-tahto."

The blonde's eyebrows furrow and a frown is tugging at his lips. It's true though, if there's something wrong with you everyone sees you as different. And when someone says that you're _different_ , nine times out of ten they mean something's wrong with you. Either way, deviating from the 'norm' isn't seen as a good thing.

"The people who set the standards don't know about people like us." Sam moves one of his hands from the steering wheel to take the breakfast sandwich I hold out to him.

"Mhmm. If they knew about us, they'd probably have to make up a whole new word to describe us accurately." Sam stops his chewing and looks at me suspiciously. "What?" I ask. "Is there a word to describe us," I ask incredulously.

"Uh, yeah, sort of, but only the people who know about us know the word. And it's not exactly made up. It's just from another language." Sam balls up his empty wrapper and tosses it back into the bag. "Can you hand me my other sandwich Rachel?"

How can he be obliviously eating like this? My heart is racing in anticipation, I'm ready to learn any new bit of information I can. Ready for some answers finally. I guess to him this is all old news, nothing to really get excited over. But he doesn't understand that I've been in the dark for too long, I'm ready to be clued in.

I clear my throat impatiently, waiting for the blonde to finish his food. Once he's finished he places both his hands on the wheel and faces forward. "Okay Rachel, I know you've got questions, so ask away."

A million questions race through my mind, too many to try and single just one out. I blurt out the first question that makes itself known. "What is the word that's used to describe us?"

"Well, it's more of a title for us, like a name for people who are different. But translated I think it describes us pretty well." His eyes are bright and a smile is pulling at his lips. "Around the school we're known as 'Insigs' which is short for the word 'insignis' which means remarkable in Latin." The way he states it sounds like it's something he's memorized from a book. "But we don't go around calling each other Insigs. It's just a technical term."

I nod my head, digesting the new information. I'm an Insig, whatever the hell that is. At least I've got a name now.

"Next question?"

I shake my head in attempt to clear it and come up with another question, but my mind is drawing a blank. Why is it that I had a whole list of questions to ask yesterday, but today I can't seem to pinpoint a single one?

I huff and ask one that I know I've already asked, but hopefully this time I'll get a better answer. "So what's wrong with me?"

Releasing a sigh Sam says, "I already told you, nothing's wrong with you Rachel. But if you're asking about your gift, I can't really tell you much. All I know is that you're telekinetic, but I'm sure you already figured that out for yourself."

"Gift?" My eyebrows are dangerously close to my hairline. "It's a pretty shitty one if you ask me."

"Well 'gift' is what most people call it. I like to think of it is as a power. You know, like superheroes? It just makes me feel a little better about it. I hated my gift too when I first found out about it."

The blonde is eyeing me from his seat, probably waiting for the question I feel bubbling up inside me. "What is your gift Sam," I ask him quietly. I forget sometimes that Sam is in the same boat as me. He seems to have adjusted well to his predicament but he probably felt just like I do when he first found out.

Sam glances to the left and right and then checks his mirrors before leaning closer to me and whispering secretly with an amused look on his face, "Wanna see?"

I'm caught off guard by how casual Sam seems to be about it. Almost like a little kid just begging for someone to ask about his new toy so he can show them. I hesitate for a moment before I nod my head to the boy in the driver's seat.

"Who have you always wanted to meet? It can be anybody."

Again I'm caught off guard by the blonde. What's that got to do with his gift? But regardless I answer the question. I could never turn down an opportunity to talk about Barbra Streisand.

"She's been my idol for as long as I can remember. I would do almost anything to meet her."

Sam grins and checks our surroundings once more, probably to make sure no other cars are close by, which they're not.

He clears his throat and sits up straighter in his seat. I'm watching him carefully when suddenly his arms, which are held in front of him on the steering wheel, begin to shrink and the hair on them recedes. I look up to his face and a gasp escapes my lips. His hair is twice the length it was and is still growing; it's also a dark brown color and his eyes seem to be fading from green to blue. Most notably though, is that his face is morphing into a more feminine shape. A few seconds later and I recognize whose face I'm looking into. It's Barbra freaking Streisand circa 1968 when she starred in Funny Girl! I would recognize that face anywhere.

I must be gaping because Sam snickers and says, "Careful Rach, I don't want any drool in my van."

I quickly snap my mouth shut, but not because of what Sam says, no, it's what he sounds like saying it. Despite appearances, Sam sounds _nothing_ like Barbra. He still sounds like himself, I was half expecting him so be able to replicate her voice just as flawlessly as he was able to replicate her appearance.

Sam chuckles again into the silence. "Not what you were expecting?" He gives me a side glace and a slight smirk.

"Uh, I, um." Damn it Rachel! Pull it together. "Um, I don't know what I expected, but this certainly wasn't it. Uh, how come you don't sound like her?"

My eyes have yet to leave his side profile. "My gift doesn't let me mimic voices like I can bodies. If I really want to pull off pretending to be someone else I've got to do their voice myself." Sam stops abruptly and balls up one of his fists and bangs it against his chest (which has boobs by the way!) and lets out a loud belch.

"And their mannerism," I mutter. Barbra would never do something so barbaric.

Sam looks sheepish and apologizes. "When I shift, I always feel like I have to burp afterwards. I don't know why, but that's just how it is."

"Are you a—," I stop myself and blush. I feel ridiculous even thinking it.

"What Rachel? It's okay to ask," Sam encourages with a smile, "I know it might seem weird right now but I promise you get used to it the more you're around it."

Taking a deep breath I try again. "Are you some sort of shape-shifter?"

To my surprise Sam doesn't laugh, he actually nods his head. "Yep, I'm what they call a Metamorphosis shifter, or meta-shifter for short. Others like me can take the physical form of any human. It's pretty sweet once you learn to control it."

"Can you change into an animal?" I blurt. What the hell? I don't even know why that came out. Oh well, can't take it back now.

Shaking his head he replies, "No, I can't do that, but there are people at school who can."

I'm about to ask another question when I notice a car on the driver's side that has a woman in it who is staring as us with wide eyes, or more accurately at Sam. Probably a fellow Barbra fan. I wonder what she's thinking since Sam obviously doesn't look like what Barbra looks like right now. I bet she thinks she's losing her mind.

"Hey Sam? I think you've got a fan over there," I say pointing out his window towards the lady who is now pulling out her camera phone.

He cuts his eyes to the left and mutters something I don't quite catch under his breath. The van jolts forward as Sam presses the gas to get away from the woman. When we're far enough away and no other cars close by Sam morphs back to himself.

The process is fascinating and can't help but stare in amazement as his hair seemingly gets pulled back into his scalp until it's the right length again and lightens up in color. The hair on his arms extends and they bulk up some. His face changes back to how he normally looks and the green over takes the blue in his eyes. He releases a sigh of relief.

"You should see people's reaction when I do Taylor Lautner," he grins at me with a mischievously.

It suddenly hits me. _That's_ why Sam is always going around doing impressions of people! He's probably practicing. But in his case I think he'll need a lot of practice before its perfect.

I chuckle under my breath at this new realization, and Sam thinks I'm laughing at what he said.

"So how do you do that? Does it hurt? What's it feel like?" Now I feel like a little kid, one who's overeager and wants to know everything about a particular subject.

"Well _how_ I do it is really complicated and I barely understand it, so I don't think I'd be able to explain it you. But no, it doesn't hurt; I just feel kind of tingly everywhere until the morphing part is over."

"Wow." My brain is fried and I've barely learned anything yet. I just can't believe this is all happening, it seems so surreal. Things like this aren't supposed to happen in real life, they happen in movie and in dreams, but not for real. I wonder if this has all been one really long and extremely vivid dream and if I'll wake up any second now and be back in my junior year right before winter break, before the world decided to take a shit on me.

Unfortunately I don't feel like I'll be waking up anytime soon.

Sam stays quiet for a while, allowing me time to think, but eventually speaks up. "Any more questions you want to ask?"

There are a ton of questions I've yet to ask but strangely enough, I don't _want_ to ask any of them right now. I think my brain may explode if I don't give it time to adjust to all the new information. So instead I ask, "How much longer until we get there?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo what do y'all think of Sam's power? Fitting?


	4. Somerbourne pt 1

Sam was right when he said we wouldn't arrive at the school until evening. The ride here was pleasant enough, Sam and I made small talk most of the way, avoiding anything that may cause my brain to have an aneurism. Surprisingly, Sam was back in my good graces by the time we arrived. He explained to me why he had to do what he did, and that he was incredibly sorry about it, and he'd make it up to me. I was a little reluctant at first to forgive him so easily but when I looked into his eyes I remembered the Sam I knew from McKinley, the one who was my friend, and went out of his way to try and make my day better. I've reached the conclusion that Sam would never intentionally do something to cause me pain.

The sun is setting and we've just stepped off the private ferry that caters to the island and its inhabitants exclusively. We hop back into Sam's van and drive away from the beach, on a trail leading to what I can only assume is the school. After a few minutes I notice the sand becoming grass and the narrow trail opening up in front of us. A few more minutes and we're in front of the school, and ho-ly shit. Before us stands an entire campus that looks new but has an older, cultured air to it. I know nothing about architecture but I _do_ know that the school is beautiful. Directly ahead of us is an enormous building that's three stories high and made of red bricks. Connecting to the main building are two, two story buildings on either side. Further off to the left I count at least three other separate structures before Sam's words steal my attention.

"Welcome to Somerbourne."

I look on in awe of the place. It's nothing like I imagined, it's far nicer, and for that I'm grateful. I notice a few people roaming around, probably students from the looks of how young they are. Sam expertly directs us through the campus and I take in all the scenery. There are various sports fields and a pool, trees and bushes all over the place and numerous spots that have strategically placed tables for students to hangout. As much as I don't want to be here, I am immensely glad that I was at least sent to a place as extravagant as this. It could have been worse, a lot worse.

Sam finally pulls into a parking structure and shuts off the van. He turns in his seat, and with a smile repeats, "Welcome to Somerbourne Rachel. I think you'll like it here if you give it a chance."

Even though I am in awe of the school and have come to enjoy Sam's company, I can't help but be a little pessimistic. I was after all, shipped off to this school against my will because my fathers didn't know what to do with me.

"Doubt that." Is my response to the blonde.

"We'll see." Sam turns back, opens his door and steps out. I follow after him. We walk down a pathway that's paved with tiny pebbles; the path is marked by stones along both sides and the pebbles fill in the space between them. It leads us between two buildings and into a courtyard that's enclosed between four structures, one of which I recognize as the huge building we saw coming in.

Walking up a set a stairs that leads to the massive building Sam says to me, "This is the administrative building, you come here to talk about your classes, like if you want to change them or whatever. You won't find a lot of students hanging around here, mostly just teachers and deans and stuff." Sam holds open the door for me and I feel a rush of cold air hit my face as I step in.

Inside the floors are pristine and the stone walls have intricate patterns carved into them. Leading me to the left Sam continues. "All admin offices are on the first floor, security is on the second and the headmaster on the third. You need special permission to go any higher than the first floor."

Sam turns down a hallway and slows his pace a little, allowing me to walk normally next to him. "Rachel, I promise Somerbourne isn't a bad place to be. You just need to give it a chance. It's better than the alternative of you getting discovered and being used as a lab rat in some sketchy science facility. The people here only want what's best for you." He stops and lets his hands fall to my shoulders so I face him. "I want what's best for you. I saw you struggling at McKinley to fit in and to control your gift. Here everyone fits in, and when you leave you'll be in control. You'll have no trouble getting a starring role on Broadway once this is all over, hell, you'll probably send all your teachers thank-you cards and tickets to opening night. You just have to go into this positively; I want this to work out for you so you can achieve every goal you've ever set. I've seen people break down in here Rach, and I don't want you to be one of them."

Tears are welling up and I can't believe Sam freaking Evans is about to make me cry. I never knew he cared so much about what happens to me. At least I've got a friend through all of this, and I won't take that for granted. I sniffle and try and blink back the tears but one escapes and trails down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand and look up into Sam's eyes.

"Thank you." I impulsively reach out and wrap my arms around his waist in a hug. Sam reciprocates immediately and rubs my back soothingly. This is the first time I've hugged anyone is quite some time. My dads haven't even hugged me in months, but that's mostly my fault. I don't like anyone touching me even if it is family. I'm a little surprised that I don't mind hugging Sam. The few hugs I'd been forced into felt wrong and awkward, but with Sam it felt natural. Like a big brother giving his little sister a hug. After a moment I pull away and check to make sure no more tears have fallen.

Sam offers a small smile and asks, "Are you ready to meet your dean?"

I stand up straight and nod my head determinedly. There's no going back.

Sam knocks three times on the door we have been standing in front of and waits for an answer.

"Come in," a feminine voice calls through the door. Sam opens the door but stays outside, and nods his head towards the woman behind the desk. I cross the threshold and hear the door close behind me. The woman looks up at me through her glasses and motions to the seat in front of her desk, "Please take a seat Rachel."

I make my way to the chair and fall into it, shocked at how comfortable it is. The plaque on the desk reads 'Mrs. Charlene Wilson'. There are papers strewn all over her desk in no apparent order and she looks to be searching for one in particular. Good luck finding it in all that mess.

"It's organized chaos," the woman— Mrs. Wilson, says without looking up. "I had your schedule just a moment ago and I placed it on top of the detention slips, and now I can't seem to locate it." I continue to stare at her, unsure if I'm supposed to respond. Luckily, she yanks a piece of paper from under a stack of folders and holds it up triumphantly with a grin. "Found it."

She lifts her glasses from her nose and slides them onto her head to read the paper in front of her. She makes a face before flipping the paper around and examining it. After a minute of complete silence she places it back onto her pigsty of a desk and looks up at me smiling.

"Hello Rachel, and welcome to Somerbourne. My name's Mrs. Wilson and I'll be helping you get settled into your classes as seamlessly as possible." She has a lively voice and smile on her face. Her dirty blonde hair falls below her shoulders and her green eyes are vibrant even in the somewhat dim lighting of her office. There are no wrinkles on her fair skin and I predict she's in her mid-thirties.

"Aw, that's so nice of you to think, but I'm actually 41." Her green eyes twinkle playfully while mine widen in horror. Shit, did I say that out loud? "No, but you thought it fairly loud." Her laughter fills the room and bounces off the walls at my facial expression. What the hell?

"I'm sorry sweetie; I shouldn't be joking around with a new student. I'm sure you've already got enough questions as it is, and I'm not helping. Allow me to start again." Mrs. Wilson clears her throat and attempts a straight face but fails, so she just continues on with a grin. "My name's Mrs. Wilson and I am your assigned dean. I'm here to help you assimilate into and succeed at Somerbourne. Any concerns you might have about classes or scheduling, you come to me for."

Her grin is still intact and from the looks of it, it doesn't appear to be going anywhere. I imagine my face must look comical to her right now.

Mrs. Wilson chuckles and shakes her head. "As you should already know, this school is a place for people with special gifts, teachers and staff included. My gift just so happens to be telepathy, which means I can read your mind."

I am positive that my eyes are the size of saucers right now. She can read minds. She can read _my_ mind! Oh my God, don't think anything rude; don't think about how unorganized she is. Shit! I thought about it! Stopping thinking about it! I'm still thinking about it! Gahhh! Just—

"You know, the more you try _not_ to think about it, the more you're going to think about it." Mrs. Wilson is clearly amused with my internal battle and I feel my cheeks heat up.

"I'm sorry for," I pause and think, "Um, thinking? I don't know. I apologize, please ignore any random thoughts that creep into my brain, I really can't control them…as you've seen."

Mrs. Wilson waves her hand in a dismissing manner, "I understand. It's fine, but just so you know; my desk is very organized, as I said earlier, it's organized chaos." She lets out another laugh before looking to me and apologizing. "I'm sorry, I'm done now. I've had my fill for the day." She resituates in her chair and looks at my schedule again.

"So, Rachel, it seems you're a bit of a late bloomer." She glances over the top of my schedule to meet my eyes. I just stare back not knowing what to say. "That's okay though, you've been assigned to the appropriate classes for your gift."

She turns the paper around and holds it out over the desk for me to take. I grab it and let my eyes scan over it. Some of these classes are typical high school classes, like calculus and government, but there are others that I've never even heard of. What the hell are EMC and HOI? Does that say 'power training?! What the fu—

"As you can see you have your normal academic classes that are required by law, but you also have specialized classes for your gift. EMC is an abbreviation for 'Emotional Management Course'. You've got a gift that relies on your emotions; therefore you need to learn to manage them before you can even hope to control and understand your gift."

"Is that what you have to do?" I ask curiously.

"Oh no dear, my gift is based around my mentality. It's more of a brain thing, but there are classes here for students whose gifts that are like mine as well." I nod dumbly. Well what the hell is HOI?

"HOI is 'History of Insigs', you'll learn all about how we came to be and how we've evolved throughout the ages. It's actually pretty interesting."

That has got my attention, I've been wondering for a long time about how I came about. Was it genetics? Is my birthmother an Insig too? Or was this just a freak accident caused by mutated genes.

"Your HOI class will answer all those questions for you."

The fact that Mrs. Wilson can read my mind is getting quite annoying now that the shock of it has worn off.

A snigger escapes Mrs. Wilson's lips. "How do you think my husband feels?"

I scrunch up my face at the thought. "My sympathies go out to him," I say with mock seriousness.

Mrs. Wilson shakes her finger at me while saying, "I like you; you're not like most of the students I get in here."

"Uh, thanks? I think."

Another quick chuckle and then she's carrying on from our earlier conversation. "So you will attend five classes a day and they start at eight sharp and end at three. Each class lasts for an hour and you have thirty minutes between each class."

"That's generous," I say quickly. "At my old school we only had five minutes between classes."

"Yes well, here we allow thirty for the students who are coming from their training classes. They need time to clean themselves up before heading off to their next class."

I can't help but gulp loudly. "Uh, what do you mean 'clean themselves up'?" I ask, although I fear I may already know the answer.

"Depending on the lesson, sometimes students get dirty, sweaty and/or hurt. They need time to clean up before their next class."

"Hurt?" I squeak out. I do not like the sound of that; doing something that could potentially end in me or somebody else being seriously injured. Is that even legal at a school?

"Our rules here are different from other schools. And before you can participate you first have to sign a contract saying you are aware of what is expected from you and that you will abide by the guidelines of Somerbourne. Getting hurt during training happens to everyone the first few times but it's usually minor. Plus the more you practice the better you get, and you'll be able to avoid injuries."

"Why do I need to learn all that? I'm not planning to join the military or anything." This all just sounds absolutely crazy.

"Our training program allows the students a chance to use and familiarize themselves with their gifts as well as an opportunity to release stress; it also doubles as a self-defense class" Mrs. Wilson rolls back in her chair, away from her desk to open a drawer. Her hand disappears in it for a few seconds before returning to view with a small stack of papers. She places them on the edge of her desk so that it's facing me. "This is your contract you need to sign before participating here at Somerbourne."

Mrs. Wilson pulls a pen from the cup on her desk and uncaps it before holding it out to me. I don't want to take it yet, I don't know if I want to sign the contract. I eye the pen suspiciously.

"What happens if I don't sign the contract? Will I get kicked out or something?" I feel a prickle of hope slide into my being, maybe I can just go back home if I don't sign anything. I can go back to how things were…but wait… how were they? Honestly they were shit, getting out of bed in the morning was a struggle, and making it through the day was even worse. Maybe going back isn't such a good idea. Maybe it'd be better if I just move forward from here on out, and I could just focus on getting to a better place; a place where this _gift_ doesn't ruin my life.

"I agree Rachel; you should focus on moving forward in this part of your life. Besides, even if you don't sign the contract you will still have to attend school here. You just wouldn't be allowed to participate in EMC and power training."

I really want to take the emotion management course but not the power training, but it seems to be a joint deal; it's either both or neither.

"We only want to help you Rachel, and if your biggest concern is the training, then I think you'll be just fine. Besides, you never know what you'll face out in the world, you might just be glad you learned to defend yourself." She shakes the pen she's been holding by the tip and extends her hand even further until it's just inches from my face.

I scrutinize the pen as if it could be the answer to all my problems or just another one to add to the growing list. I suppose that knowing how to defend myself could come in handy once I make it to Broadway. I could use what I learn to fight off crazy obsessed fans and—

Mrs. Wilson's snigger breaks me out of my thoughts. Oh damn. My cheeks flush slightly and I blow out an exasperated breath. Taking the offered pen I look down at the contract. How bad could it be; I mean there are tons of other students here that signed the contract and seem to be doing just fine. I guess I'll have to adjust, it won't be impossible and it'll be worth it once I'm back on the track to stardom.

Fuck it.

Mrs. Wilson smiles and says "You need to initial here," she points to the bottom of the first page, "and sign here," she flips a few pages to the reach the end and indicates to a dotted line marked by an X.

I quickly scan over what the contract reads, so far it's all legal jargon basically saying that if anything happens to me here at the school that's a result of training or specific classes, I can't sue the school. It also states that I will abide by the rules and regulations of Somerbourne and if I break the rules I will accept the appropriate punishment.

I glance up at Mrs. Wilson and she gives me an encouraging smile. Without hesitation I put the pen to the paper and scratch out my signature. As I'm handing the paper back to the smiling dean I realize that this is my first signature without a gold star next to it. In a way I'm glad to have moved passed that stage, I am, after all, a different person now; but underneath it all I've still got the undying determination that saw me through so many years of hardship. And I'm sure that it'll see me through this new experience as well.

Mrs. Wilson stands up from her chair and holds her hand out to me, a smile gracing her face. I stand too and take her hand, "Welcome to Somerbourne Rachel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now that the setup is done it's time for some plot! Yay! Thanks for wadding through 10k+ words of shit to get to the good stuff. Next chapter Rachel meets some of the Gleeks and has her first run-in with Quinn.
> 
> Also there's been 188 hit in just three days but no comments :(  
> Do y'all like the story?


	5. Somerbourne pt 2

By the time I've left Mrs. Wilson's office the sun has disappeared from the sky, and nighttime is upon the school. To my surprise Sam is sitting on the ground next to the dean's office when I walk out. He's sitting with his legs crossed underneath him, his attention on the small screen that he's holding in his lap. He mutters swear words at the device but quickly stops when he hears my giggle.

"Rachel! Hey, you done already?" He stands up and slides his game into his pocket.

"Already? It's been an hour!"

Sam just shrugs, "Yeah well… whatever. You ready to go to your dorm?"

Panic seizes my movements. I knew that I was going to be taking classes and going to school here now, and in the back of my mind I knew I was going to be living on campus, but in the moment I forgot. I forgot that I'm going to be spending every waking – and sleeping – moment here, and that jars me back to the reality of my situation.

"Rach? You okay?" Sam asks, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

I shake my head in attempt to clear it and tell Sam that I'm fine. "But I'm not ready to go to my dorm yet; can you give me a tour of the campus? You know, so I'm ready for tomorrow and won't get lost?"

Honestly, I couldn't care less about getting to know the campus. That's so far down on my list of things to do that it's on the backside of the paper. In truth it'd probably be better if I got lost tomorrow. That would mean less time I'd have to spend in those unorthodox classes. I only suggest the tour because I don't want to leave the only person I'm familiar with at this school. Sam is like a safety blanket for me now and I want to hold onto him for as long as I can.

"Yeah sure," Sam replies easily and grabs my schedule from my hand as he starts walking. I have to jog a little bit to catch up to him since he took off so abruptly. I start to say something but I notice him studying my schedule closely. So instead I just walk silently beside him as he leads us back through the building without even looking up from the paper. "So it looks like we have a few classes together Rach." Sam hands me back my schedule and beams. "We have Calculus, Government and PT, that means power training, together."

One of the first things I noticed when Mrs. Wilson gave me my schedule was that this school functioned on an 'A' 'B' timetable, meaning my 'A' day classes were different than my 'B' day classes. One other thing I noted was that on both 'A' and 'B' day I have an EMC and PT class. I didn't think to ask Mrs. Wilson about it so as an alternative I ask Sam.

"They do that so we have to use our gifts every single day, it's good practice." Sam pauses as he comes to the door we entered through and pushes it open, allowing me to go first. The warm air encompasses my body as I step out and notice the stars twinkling in the sky. "Plus having EMC everyday makes it quicker to learn control," Sam continues.

After he too is outside the building he stops and stands at the top of the steps that lead down to the pebbled path. We're facing away from the admin building but are still enclosed between the other three buildings which leaves a large courtyard between them all. Pointing to the two story building directly across from us Sam says, "That's where your normal classes will be at, it's called Brewer Hall. So you'll go there for Calculus, Government, Physics— basically all the classes you'd take at a normal high school."

I smile at the way Sam describes it.

"What about the not-so-normal classes," I ask him.

"Well HOI, EMC and PT classes are in a building behind this one," Sam says as he begins walking again. We descend the stairs and walk along the path, but this time we don't follow it the same way we came in. Instead Sam is walking towards Brewer Hall, the path leads to the entrance of the building but also breaks away and leads along the side of the building; the latter is the way Sam and I head.

"What about the other two buildings back there," I ask jerking my thumb over my shoulder towards the buildings in question.

"One is for research and the other is the library," Sam replies quickly. "You most likely will never go into the research building, but the library is open from 6 in the morning to 11 at night every day."

We continue on the path, only the sound of pebbles crunching beneath our feet and the wind blowing around us. As Sam leads me through the campus I discover it's much larger than I originally thought. There's a total of nine buildings; the admin building, Brewer and Warner Hall (Warner is where HOI, EMC and PT are), Kaylock Research Center, the Palmer Library, Genevieve and Bernard Residence Halls (the girls and boys dorms), the Farley Annex (the teacher's housing) and 'The Den'. Sam and I end the tour at The Den, a brightly lit and energetic building that's currently populated with students. According to Sam it serves as a recreational building for the students.

Sam stops by the front door and looks at me. "Want to go in?" he asks cocking his head so that it's pointing at the entry.

I turn from Sam and eye the building. It's two stories and is made from the same brick as all the other buildings at Somerbourne, but for some reason this particular one has a different feel to it. Maybe it's because I can hear the dull beating of music from the second floor or maybe it's because of the faint sound of chatter I can make out through an open window. Everywhere else we've passed has been devoid of life, excluding the occasional teacher or student who passed by on their way elsewhere.

I don't really want to go in, I'm not up for meeting a bunch of other freaks, but I don't want to leave Sam's side either. Deciding to take my chances with the other freaks I put on a well-practiced but incredibly fake smile and tell Sam sure. He beams then jogs up the steps to open and hold the door for me to enter. As soon as I'm in the foyer my eyes bulge. Through the archway I see a skinny Asian guy stretching his arms across the room, and when I say stretching I mean literally _stretching_. Like that guy from Fantastic Four or the chick from The Incredibles. Seriously, his arms look like they're made out of play-doh with the way they're stretching. When his arms draw back in, I notice him holding a girl around the waist; pulling her back too. Once she's standing right in front of him and his limbs have resumed a normal length he kisses her lightly on the cheek and she blushes furiously before suddenly disappearing. He just smiles adoringly as I scan the room, trying to spot the girl who just vanished from my view.

Sam chuckles from beside me, noting my bafflement from what I just witnessed.

"You get used to it, I promise," Sam says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and leading me away from the stretchy Asian.

As we walk I take note of the way the den is set up; immediately after the foyer there's an enormous room with various couches and chairs placed all around. To the right there's a few guys seated on a couch and one in a wheelchair playing some kind of videogame on a large plasma T.V. It's some sort of shooting game and they're all talking to each other as if they are actually in that situation right now.

"Artie watch out, there's a guy in the window up top with an MSR." I hear one of them say.

"Fucking campers. They keep spawn trapping us," another one says.

"Dude this is lame, let's just back out," says the kid in the wheelchair.

After a moment they all put their controllers down and stand up, save for the guy in the wheelchair, he just turns his chair around.

"Ho-ly crap," drawls the wheelchair kid, "Do my eyes deceive me or is that Sam Evans?" The kid has a face splitting smile on as he rolls towards Sam and I.

I look over at Sam and his smile is similar in size to his friends. Sam meets him halfway and they bump fists in greeting. "Dude it's been forever!" The guy in the wheelchair looks up at him and agrees.

"I know, it's been, what, like five months? I hope you brought back that girl or else it would have all been a waste of time, and man, five months is a lot of time."

Sam just smiles and motions for me to come join him and his friend. I walk over to the two boys and Sam introduces us. "Rachel, this is my friend Artie Abrams, Artie this is Rachel Berry; the girl I was sent to bring back."

Artie smiles at me and responds with a 'wassup' in a fake gangster accent. Artie and Sam spend of few minutes catching up, talking about what he missed happening around the school while he was gone.

While they talk I glance around the room and take in the students who are lounging around. There's probably about 20 students in here but I can hear more talking and laughing through an archway to my right, and I know there are more upstairs because I remember the music coming from up there and the shadows that were passing by the windows when I was standing outside.

"Well I better go now; I've got homework that's due tomorrow morning and unfortunately it won't complete itself. I'll catch you tomorrow Sam. It was nice meeting you Rachel." Artie waves as he turns around and begins to leave. Just before he reaches the door he stops and turns his head. "Oh Sam, I forgot to tell you, I think I saw Blaine and Kurt come in earlier, they went to the back I think, you know, if you want to go see them."

Sam expresses his thanks and turns to ask me if I want to meet some of his friends. Not seeing a reason why I shouldn't, I tell him sure. Again we take off through the manor and this time Sam leads me through the archway I saw earlier. This takes us to a long, wide hallway with several doors on both sides leading all the way to the end of the hall where a spiral staircase sits; leading to the second floor.

"So all of these rooms have different purposes," Sam explains as we start down the hall. "There's an art room, a music room, a weight room, even a game room."

On our journey down the hall I see the weight and music rooms Sam mentioned. The weight room is large and has every kind of exercise equipment known to man, and the music room looks like it belongs to a symphony. Some of the other rooms we pass just look like various lounges, and each one has random students in them hanging out.

As we reach the end of the hallway, right before the stairs, Sam enters a door on the left. I assume this is the game room; I count five students in here and a large pool table filling up the space in the middle of the room. There are also a few old-school arcade machine games like Pac-man and Space Invaders lined up against a wall and beanbag chairs that have some students laid out on them. The lighting in the room is somewhat dim and has a blue tint to it.

As Sam and I enter there's a chorus of voices that assault our ears.

"Oh my God, is that Sam?"

"Sam's back?"

"Dude!"

"We were wondering how long you'd be gone!"

"That cricket keeps insulting me."

Apparently Sam is more popular here than he was at McKinley. A muscular guy with a mowhawk is the first to approach us with a huge smile on his face.

"Dude! You missed the craziest shit the other day!" He exclaims clasping Sam on the shoulder. "Sylvester was in full bitch mode yesterday 'cause she caught some freshman snooping though her office and all hell broke loose man! She went on a freaking rampage and ended up—"

The beefy guy unexpectedly stops speaking and turns his head to look at me. Apparently he's just now realized that Sam wasn't the only person who entered the room just moments ago. He looks back at Sam and points his thumb at me as he speaks to the blonde. "This the girl you went and got from Ohio?" He questions.

"I'm standing right here," comes my retort. "Why don't you ask me yourself?" I can't help the irritation that seeps into my voice at the moronic jock.

He squints his eyes at me, like he's trying to figure me out and I have to fight the urge to smack him across the head.

"So is this her?" He asks Sam again.

"Seriously?" I huff, my aggravation growing exponentially. "Why do you feel the need to speak as if I'm not standing right here? That's incredibly rude." I feel that familiar feeling seeping into my blood, the sensation that always comes before an episode.

"Yeah dude," Sam chimes in, "that is kinda rude."

"This cricket is being rude to me." I whip my head around and spot the girl who muttered the trivial statement, my feelings of rage converting into confusion. She's a tall blonde with the most remarkable blue eyes. She's standing by a window in the corner of the room and she keeps looking down at something on the windowsill.

"Britt just shut the window and you won't have to listen to it." Again I whip my head, this time to the other side of the room, and spot a boy with an absurd amount of hair gel in his hair sitting in a bean bag chair with another boy with an incredibly smooth face leaning against him.

"But then I'd be the rude one. Closing the window while he's in the middle of talking is mean. That's also kind of like bullying and I don't tolerate bullying." With that she turns her back to the group and leans over the windowsill and begins whispering.

What in God's name is going on?

The boy with the extremely gelled hair stands up from his spot, much to the other boy's dismay, and makes his way over to me, Sam and the guy with the mowhawk.

"You'll have to excuse Brittany, she's in her own world most of the time." He offers a small smile and I attempt to return it but I don't know how well it's received. "You'll also have to excuse Puck, he forgets his manners sometimes." The mohawk guy—Puck— lightly scoffs.

"Dude I was just messing with her. I wanted to see what she would do." He grins and holds his hand out to me. "Noah Puckerman, but you can just call me Puck."

I cautiously take his outstretched hand; I'm not sure how I feel about him just yet. Even if he was just playing around, he made a terrible first impression. "Puck feels weird saying. Is it alright if I call you Noah?"

He shrugs one shoulder and releases my hand. "Yeah sure, but don't be surprised if I don't respond the first few times. I'm not used to being called that."

I just nod at him. "And my name's Blaine," says the hair gel guy. He extends his hand and I politely take it, noting how soft his hands are. Turning slightly to glance over his shoulder at the porcelain faced boy, Blaine continues, "The grump over on the bean bag is my boyfriend Kurt."

Kurt let's out an exasperated groan and replies, "I am not being a grump. I'm just reflecting on the day's events and trying to figure out what happened, because come on! A freshman? A little freshman beat me?"

Blaine just shakes his head as Kurt mumbles to himself about going easy on the freshman. Introducing the last person in the room Blaine turns and faces towards the other end of the pool table. "And this is Finn, he is Kurt's brother."

I take in the tall, lanky frame of Finn. He's holding a pool stick, probably waiting to get back to his game and when I meet his gaze he gives me a lopsided smile and a small wave. He's kind of cute but more in the adorable sense of the word. Like a puppy.

Blaine's eye catches the clock in the room and he quietly says, "Crap." He looks at me again and smiles, "It was nice to meet you Rachel but I've got to go. Library closes in a couple hours and I've got some work to finish."

"It was nice meeting you as well," I reply. Blaine seems like good guy, but also seems like he's used to being the center of attention. I suppose I can relate to that, though I suspect the attention we receive greatly differs.

Blaine exits the room and his boyfriend Kurt follows a few steps behind him.

"And then there were five," Noah says creepily.

I give him a strange look and he chuckles good-naturedly.

"Wrong Puckerman. Now there's only four. Come on Britts. We're going back to the dorm."

I spin around to face the door to see who the voice belongs to. There are actually two girls standing in the doorway, the one who spoke is a Latina with tan skin and raven colored hair. Next to her is a girl who looks the complete opposite, the girl to her left is pale and blonde. "Who's the dwarf," the Latina asks, looking around the room for answer.

"That's Rachel, she's new," Noah answers before walking back to the pool table to finish his game with Finn.

Brittany saunters past me and Sam and stops in front of the Latina. "Don't call her that." She gives the girl a reprimanding look then adds, "Besides, she's not that short."

The blonde in the doorway huffs a laugh and looks me up and down. I've never felt so judged before. The blonde meets my eyes and smirks, without looking away she says, "She's right Santana, you shouldn't call her that, dwarfs are smaller. Midget is much more accurate."

I feel my face heat up and my blood begin to boil.

"Lay off Rachel you guys," Sam steps in. Thank you Sam.

"Oh look, trouty mouth is back," the Latina –Santana says with indifference.

"Dude, is there really a difference between a midget and a dwarf?" I hear Noah ask Finn.

"No idea," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yes," the blonde replies, still smirking as her eyes travel up and down my body once again.

Normally my verbose nature would have taken over by now and I could defend myself against this blonde with logic and reason, but for some unknown reason, words escape me. My brain refuses to function and my body just wants to react. At the sound of Santana snickering at the blondes insult I feel that all too familiar jolt, but this time, I'm not frightened by it. I welcome it.

My body temperature rises as I stare down the blonde who just stares right back. I am faintly aware of Sam standing next to me telling me to relax, but my body doesn't want to. _I_ don't want to.

The pool table in the center of the room beings to vibrate, knocking the balls out of their positions.

"Hey come on!" I hear Puck exclaim.

Santana just smirks, completely unfazed. "Uh oh, is the dwarf getting angry? Will I not like you when you're angry?" She mocks cruelly and crosses her arms in a defiance gesture.

I feel the tremors in the room getting stronger, the arcade machines are joining in now, vibrating in their positions against the wall. I'm ready to unleash. I'm ready to explode. My fists are balled tight, and I'm sure if I were to look down at them, my knuckles would be a ghostly white.

The blonde glances over at the Latina by her side and declares in a bored tone, "Let's go San, I'm over this."

Santana contemplates for a moment and smiles a sickly sweet smile, "Yeah, I'm already bored with the dwarf." With a final smirk Santana grabs Brittany's hand and turns to leave, the blonde beauty following behind them.

Sam places a firm hand on my quivering shoulder and tells me to calm down and that they're not worth getting in trouble for. I take a few deep breaths and force myself to calm down, and after a few moments the objects in the room cease shaking. I'm calm enough to control my gift but still wound up over the events that just transpired.

"Try not to let them get to you Rachel. They act like towards pretty much everybody."

I just shake my head. I knew girls like that at McKinley and unfortunately they're all the same; vain, arrogant, malicious, and gorgeous.

* * *

A half hour and a few apologies later, Sam and I are heading out the door, prepared to turn in for the night.

"Again, I'm really sorry about what happened earlier and for messing up your game," I apologize for the umpteenth time to Finn and Noah.

"It's okay Rachel, no harm done," Finn reassures with a lopsided grin.

One more round of goodbyes and Sam and I are out the door.

"So what do you think of Somerbourne so far?" Sam queries and we head back down the hallway.

"Hmm…"

"Excluding what happened earlier," he clarifies.

One side of my mouth quirks up slightly before I answer, "Honestly, I don't hate it as much as I wanted to." I glance at Sam from the corner of my eye to see how he receives my admission.

He just nods his head thoughtfully. "It was the same for me. And after a while it starts to feel like a second home."

I chuckle lightly, "Yeah, I don't know if I'll ever feel that way, but it definitely isn't as horrible as I imagined."

Sam smiles, "Well that's a start."


	6. First Day Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hints on four different characters gifts and at least 2/4 of them should be obvious, maybe even 3/4 if you ready closely. A cookie for anyone who can correctly guess all four.

Sam walks me back to Genevieve dorm; where all the female students on campus live, and bids me goodnight but not before promising to meet back here in the morning to show me to my classes. With a final hug and a few whispered words of encouragement, Sam is strolling back to his dorm.

I push open the heavy oak door and enter my new home. Inside is cool and brightly lit, but sparsely populated. Only me and two other girls are in the hallway. The inside walls are made of smooth stone, much like in the administrative building but there are less details carved into these. Instead there are banners and cork boards running down the hallways.

I pull a small piece of paper from my pocket, my dorm number printed on it.

“Dorm 206,” I mutter to myself. Walking a short distance down the hall I see that all of the dorms on the first floor begin with the number one. My dorm must be located on the second floor then.

I make my way back to where I entered the dormitory and there's a staircase located right across the hall from the double doors. Climbing them slowly, I begin to wonder if I'll have a roommate and whether or not they'll be tolerable to live with.

Making it to the top of the stairs, I spy my dorm on the right side of the hall only three doors down.

Navigating in the room proves to be a bit of a task because it's nearly pitch black. The only source of light is coming from the hallway behind me and as soon as I close the door the room is plunged into darkness. Luckily before all the light was extinguished I got a general layout of the room. Two twins sized beds, each pushed up against opposites walls of each other, and two desks on the third wall, directly across the room from the door.

I blindly feel my way to the unoccupied bed. In the brief moment of light, I noticed a large lump in the bed on the left side of the room, leaving me with the bed on the right. Once the bed is firmly under my hands, I plop down on it with a sigh. A few moments later and my eyes have somewhat adjusted to the darkness an I notice a small wall lamp, mounted just by the head of my bed. Clicking it on to it's dimmest setting, as not to disturb my roommate, I glace around again. The first thing I realize is that the room is actually rather large for a dorm. There's plenty of space between the two beds and the the length of the room has got to be at least 20 feet. The second thing I notice is the rather flamboyant decorations on my roommates half of the room. Her wall is filled with posters of various artists, movie titles and motivational words like 'dream' and 'love'. The desk I assume is hers, is overflowing with trinkets and knickknacks, and I'm almost positive that no school work gets done there.

My roommate herself, however, I've not yet caught a glimpse of. Her entire body is covered by her blanket, not one piece of hair or skin showing from beneath. The only thing I can possibly discern about her is that she might be a rather heavyset girl because the cluster under the blanket is quite large. Or at least much larger than me.

I notice a short dresser at the foot of my bed and see that my suitcase is laid on top it. After picking out suitable sleepwear; a tank top and shorts, I trudge over to the only other door in the room besides the entrance. It's slightly ajar and after pushing it open I see that it's a bathroom.

_Thank you! No communal toilets or showers. Silver lining._

Even though the bathroom is rather small, holding only a toilet, shower stall and stand alone sink I am forever grateful. I don't think I'd be able to handle a community washroom.

I quickly strip down and change before pulling my hair up into a ponytail and deciding to call it a night. I crawl into the unfamiliar bed with stiff sheets and will my mind to shut up.

_I wonder how tomorrow will turn out. Will it be terrible? Will I hate it here? Will I make any friends? Do I even want to make friends? Sam's friends seemed alright I guess. That guy Noah seemed like he could be a bit of an ass but the others were okay. Well except for those two girls who came in at the end. The Latina and the blonde. Santana, I think her name was? And the blonde... who was the blonde? What was her name?_

After about 45 minutes of pondering unanswerable questions, I finally slip into a deep sleep; the last thought in my mind transferring over to my dreams. Vicious laughs and cruel smirks dominate my dream land, and for some unknown reason, a set of bright hazel eyes.

* * *

 

An incessant beeping pulls me from my sleep as I roll over to face the wall, never opening my eyes and hoping that the noise will stop. I hear my roommate's bed rustle and then the beeping ceases. More movement from the other side of the room and a light groaning, probably stretching out, reach my ears as I continue to face the wall. All is silent for a few minutes and I suppose it's probably best if I get up and and attempt to make it to class on time for my first day.

Just as I start to throw the blanket off me, I hear a lively 'good morning' sound from the other bed.

“Nooo. Five more minutes,” comes the mumbled reply.

_What the hell? Two voices? There should only be one!_

I hastily twist my head to the right in order to see the source of the voices.

The voice that greeted good morning was most definitely a different voice from the one that responded. The first was light and cheerful whereas the second one was hoarse and sleep-filled.

Catching sight of the girl in the bed across from mine, I realize that the rather big lump from last night was not a bigger girl, but instead two different girls sharing the same bed!

The one who spoke first—I'm assuming because she's leaned up on her elbow peering down at the other girl—I recognize from the game room last night. Her long blonde hair and blue eyes are unmistakable. Brittany I think her name was, the girl who was acting strange.

She is settled on the half of the bed closest to the wall, positioning her further away from me than her bed-mate. Her bed-mate, who's face I've not yet seen, is laying on her stomach, hands buried under her pillow and facing Brittany.

Smiling softly, the blonde sweeps some loose hair from her bed-mates face and lets her hand rest on her neck.

“Santana, you know what Mr. Sawyer said; if you're late to class one more time, you'll have detention for a week.”

_Santana...why does that name sound familiar? Wait, I think that's the girl from last night, the horrible Hispanic girl who kept calling me a dwarf. Oh no. Please please please please please, don't let this be the same girl._

My internal pleas go unheard because the closer I study her, the more I notice the similarities between the girl across from me and the Latina spitfire who taunted me the previous day. Both have the same tan skin tone and dark hair. When she speaks again, I note the similarities in their voices.

“Shit,” she mumbles. “What time is it?”

“7:15,” comes the blondes reply.

The other girl mutters something in Spanish before rolling on to her back and stretching out like a cat.

Finally able to see her face, or at least her side profile, I know it's the same girl from last night. The same one who thought it funny to antagonize me and try to embarrass me in front of a group of students.

_Well, there goes any chance of Somerbourne being bearable. If this girl is my roommate, there's no way I'm going to make it here._

As if she could hear my thoughts—like Mrs. Wilson—the Latina slowly cranes her neck and realizes for the first time that she's not alone in the room with Brittany.

Her eyes widen for a brief moment and then, “Oh hell no!” And suddenly it was like Santana hadn't just been half asleep, begging for five more minutes. She sits up in a flash, all traces of sleep gone from her face. Instead disbelief and irritation seep from her expression. “You have got to be effing kidding me.”

Brittany, for her part, just looks a little confused. “What San? I told you I was assigned a new roommate.”

“Yeah, but you didn't tell me it was the dwarf!”

Just as quickly as Santana had, I too bolt upright. This absolute stranger is continuing to verbally attack me for no apparent reason.

“What is your problem with me,” I nearly yell. “You don't know a single thing about me and yet you continue to attack me!”

“Oh no sweetie,” she patronizes, “this isn't an attack, trust me. If you want to see a legitimate attack, I'd be more than happy to demonstrate.” A bloodcurdling smirk appears on her face and my heartbeat increases tenfold.

Before any more words can be exchanged, Brittany butts in, “San, leave her alone please. She's my roommate and I want you guys to get along.”

Santana releases a sarcastic laugh and I just eye Brittany incredulously, eyebrows close to my hairline.

_She can't be serious can she?_

“C'mon San, if you guys don't like each other, then you won't be here as much,” she reasons, “and if you're not here we won't get to have sweet lady kisses.”

Although I'm not entirely sure what 'sweet lady kisses' are, I have a pretty good guess.

Judging from the look on Santana's face she probably realizes that Brittany is right. If she wants to continue to see her girlfriend after school and into the night, she'll have to suck up all that hostility that's been directed my way thus far.

The Latina considers Brittany's words for a few moments longer before huffing out a _fine,whatever_ and storming off to the bathroom. We sit in silence until the sound of the shower turning on can be heard through the bathroom door.

“Sorry about Santana,” the blonde offers. “She's just really cranky in the mornings so she can be mean sometimes.”

Letting out a huff I counter, “And what about last night? What's her excuse for last night,” I demand.

“Hmm,” she considers, “Actually I guess Santana is kinda always mean.”

_Damn right she is._

“But I don't think it's on purpose,” she quickly explains.

I scrunch up my eyebrows in confusion, “That doesn't really make sense.”

Brittany gets up from her bed and shrugs one shoulder, “It does if you know her,” she replies vaguely. Without another word she walks to her dresser and pulls out two sets of clothes, presumably one for her and one for Santana, before joining her girlfriend in the now steamy bathroom.

I blink pointedly, unsure of what to do. I suppose I should get dressed now, and quickly before either of them come back into the room. I jump out of bed and select an outfit from the suitcase my fathers packed for me.

_At least they had the sense to pack my newer clothes and not the others._

After changing into a dark purple V neck and a pair of dark skinny jeans, I hurriedly make my bed and slide on my shoes. The steady strum of water can no longer be heard from the bathroom and I choose to make my exit now. Better to avoid Santana for the time being. Heading out the door I snatch my class schedule off the dresser and shrug on my trusty leather (actually pleather) jacket. Just as I'm closing the door that leads out to the hallway, I hear the bathroom door open and the two girls talking.

Just as he promised the night before, Sam is waiting on the bottom steps of Genevieve dorms and I shoot him a smile when I catch his eye.

“So how was your first night at Somerbourne,” he wonders as soon as we take off from the dorm. We walk along the pebbled path again, this time it leading between two large buildings about a hundred yards away.

“The night wasn't so bad, but this morning was an entirely different story,” I admit bitterly.

The blonde sends me a confused side glance and I explain, “Remember those girls from the game room last night? Santana and the blonde? Well, I think Santana is dating my roommate,” I huff out frustrated. “From what I gathered Brittany is my official roommate but Santana stays there a lot, meaning she's sort of like the unofficial third roommate.”

Sam's eyes widen a bit as he realizes what exactly that means. I just hum my agreement and reach into my pocket for my class schedule. “I really don't want to talk or even think about that right now,” I declare while handing Sam my slightly crumpled schedule. “I just want to focus on my classes right now and according to that,” I say gesturing to the paper in Sam's hands, “I have History of Insigs first.”

I am actually delighted that this is my first class at the school, learning a little bit about myself and the origins of people like me seems like a good place to start. I am well aware that the next year is going to be a challenging journey; learning the history, learning control and most of all, learning to accept myself. But if my last three years of high school have taught me anything, it's that I can accomplish anything I put my mind to. I just need to put in the effort. I've already signed my contract to attend Somerbourne and that was the first step, now I need to really commit. I will not breakdown in here and I will not fail.

“Okay cool,” Sam states. “I have American Lit first so we'll be going to different buildings but yours is straight across from mine and we can meet up in the quad afterwards.”

Without warning a hand appears and slaps Sam on his back and he stumbles forward slightly, caught off guard by the big mohawked guy who came rushing up from behind.

“Hey,” Sam scolds, “Be a little more careful wouldya? I'm not Finn.”

Noah has the decency to look sheepish and quickly apologizes. “My bad man, I'm just glad you're back. It hasn't been the same in the group since you left.” He falls into step with us, coming up on Sam's left side.

“Yeah, I've missed being here. I never realized how boring normal high schools could be,” the blonde says. “I'm glad I never had to go to one.”

“Yeah, you're lucky dude,” Noah replies while sidestepping a student who just about walked into him. “I only had to go for one year but man! It sucks major balls compared to Somerbourne.”

The mohawked boy glances around Sam and meets my eye, “Trust me, you'll like it here a whole lot more than your other school.”

I consider momentarily then concede, “As long as you all don't throw slushies at people, I think Somerbourne already has McKinley beat.”

Noah pulls a confused face and Sam and I explain to him what a surprise slushie attack is.

By the time we've finished explaining and sharing our own personal experiences, Noah looks torn between amusement and sympathy for his friend. There's a glimmer in his eyes though, and I can tell he's decided to find the story amusing.

Sam shakes his head playfully, “It might seem funny now, but once you've experienced it, you'll feel differently.”

Noah makes a disbelieving noise, “As if anyone would ever be able to throw a slushie on me. I'd take them down in a second flat,” he boasts while flexing his muscles, “they know better. But as for you guys,” he continues and comes around to walk next to me, “you let me know if anyone ever does that again. I'll toss them head first into the dumpster behind the cafeteria to teach them a lesson.”

I can't help the small laugh that escapes me as I picture Noah throwing someone into a dumpster.

Noah looks over my head to the blonde and smirks, “She thinks I'm joking.” He slings his bulging arm over my shoulders and peers down at me then repeats, “You think I'm joking don't you?”

I shrug my shoulders, with some difficulty because of the extra weight on them and reply, “I don't know, maybe.”

Noah just grins and cryptically replies, “You'll learn.”

Sam only chuckles and slows our pace, eventually coming to a complete halt. We are standing in between two large buildings, a pathway connecting them. There are about two dozen outdoor tables spaced out in the grass with various students lingering around them. Some with books studying and others just talking with friends.

Sam points to the building on the right, “Your class is on the second floor in the far right corner. Mines over here,” he gestures towards the building on the left, “when class is over meet me back here okay?”

I glance up at my building and have to shield my eyes from the sun. The two buildings look almost identical except for the first floor. Sam's building has windows lining the first and second floor, most likely the classrooms but my building only has windows lining the second floor. On the first there's only four windows total spaced out along the length of the building. It looks a bit odd.

“Wait, are you going to Solomon's class?” Noah asks.

I quickly check my schedule for the teachers name, and sure enough it reads 'R. Solomon.'

“Looks like it,” I reply and Noah smiles.

“Awesome, we've got the same class. And Solomon is pretty chill, she's not mean and she doesn't give really hard homework.”

The conversation is cut short as the PA system comes to life and an automated voice announces “It is now 7:55 AM and classes will begin in five minutes. Please proceed to your designated classrooms.”

When the automated voice falls silent, the chatter in the quad picks back up and students start moving in different directions, mainly splitting up between the two buildings.

“Alright then, since you've got class with Puck you can just follow him, and meet me back here later,” the blonde informs. He offers one last encouraging smile before turning and disappearing into the mob of students making their way to class.

I face Noah and gesture for him to lead the way. His large body, unsurprisingly, makes it easy for us to push through the throngs of students shoving their way to the doors. Once inside, we're no longer shoulder to shoulder with students and have space to move freely. I spot a staircase as soon as we've gotten in and try to make my way towards it. Noah's arm is thrown over my shoulder again as he steers us to the right instead and down the hallway.

“There's another set of stairs at the end of the hall,” he explains, “they lead right to the class and there's less students to go through.”

I hum my acknowledgment and continue to take in my surroundings. The walls in here are made of the same stone as the other buildings. Strangely, there appears to be only a handful of doors on the bottom level of this building, just as there were only a handful of windows on the outside as well. As we pass a door that's been propped open I'm able to steal a glance inside. The classroom looks pretty empty, sans the students who are in there. No desks or chairs or blackboards as far as I could tell. We pass by too quickly before I can see anymore.

_Well that's weird right? No desks?_

As Noah and I near the end of the hall and second staircase I ask him about the classroom we passed.

“Oh, that's one of the PT rooms. There's no desks or anything in there cause we don't use them and they'd just get in the way.”

“Get in the way?” I inquire as we start up the stairs.

“Yeah, PT isn't like a regular class ya know? We don't read from a textbook or take notes. We listen to the instructor and we train.”

When we arrive at the top of the stairs Noah points to a door several feet away, “That's our class, I'll explain some more after class is over,” he promises and makes his way to the door and holds it open.

“Thanks,” I say and pass through the doorway. This class looks like a normal high school class; desks, chairs, a few computers, educational posters on the wall and a teacher standing in front of a whiteboard.

“It's nice to see you on time today Mr. Puckerman,” the teacher jests. She stands no taller than 5'3” and has short black hair and thick rimmed glasses, a smile spreads across her chubby face when Noah mock bows and jokes back.

“You asked me not to be late and here I am, your wish is my command.” He finishes with a flourish and the teacher laughs before making a shooing motion and dismissing him to his seat.

The desks are mostly filled with other students and only a few remain open, luckily there are two desks next to each other that are vacant and Noah chooses one of the two and I take the remaining. A few moments later the PA system announces in the same automated voice, “It is now 8:00 AM and classes have begun.” It clicks off and the room is silent.

“Good morning everyone,” the teacher enthuses. There's a dull response of mumbled 'good mornings' from the students. “I see everyone is still stuck in the weekend,” she chuckles. “I just hope you all finished the homework I assigned last Thursday, there should be no excuses you've had plenty of time.”

I see many of the students start digging around in their book bags or binders, searching for the previously mentioned homework. I peek at Noah and see that he is making no effort to find his homework.

_He probably didn't do it. He seems like the type of guy who doesn't do work outside of class. Actually, he seems like the type of guy who doesn't do very much in class either._

As my classmates pass their homework forward, the teacher, Ms. Solomon, claps her hands together once and peers around the class. Her search stops with me. “Class today we have a new student joining us, Ms. Rachel Berry.” She holds her hands out in a gesture to me and I awkwardly wave when the entire class stares at me. “Not only is she new to this class, but she is also new to Somerbourne so let's give her a good first impression, m'kay? Since classes just started last week you've only missed two of my classes and they've mostly just been review. You should have no problem catching up.” She smiles warmly at me once more before turning around and uncapping a marker to begin writing on the board. I look down to grab a pen and copy what's being written on the board only to realize I don't have any school supplies.

_Great job dads. Send me off to a secret school without so much as a pen or sheet of paper._

I lightly tap Noah's arm to get his attention, “May I borrow a sheet of paper and a pen if you have extra,” I ask him quietly, “I didn't bring anything.”

Noah agrees easily, “Yeah, sure.” He tears out a few papers from his notebook and slides them onto my desk along with a pen. “And FYI if you need some supplies you can get them in the library.” I thank him and quickly jot down what's been written on the board.

Ms. Solomon whirls around and caps her marker, “Alright class, the last time you all were here we spent the hour watching a film about the origin of Insigs, and yes I know, you've already heard the story more times than you can probably count, but for the sake of our new student, and for my own peace of mind, tell me what you know. What did the film discuss?” The teacher glances around the room waiting for an answer. “Oh come on guys,” she exclaims dramatically after not receiving any response. “I need for everyone to dust those cobwebs out of your heads and look alive and participate.”

A quick glace around the room shows that no one seems to be fully functioning quite yet, most students staring blankly ahead and some propped up on their arms attempting to keep their eyes open.

Ms. Solomon exhales a loud sigh and claps her hands together loudly, “Alright, everyone up,” she gestures with her hands, “everyone stand up right now. I want you all to push your chairs under your desks and stand behind them.”

All the students in the class look perplexed but stand up regardless. I shoot a questioning look to Noah but he just shrugs a shoulder and stands up too. Once the whole class is standing Ms. Solomon continues, “Now, can someone please name one thing that the film discussed?”

My classmate's heads swivel around the room, attempting to see if anyone will answer this time. Just as Ms. Solomon starts to say something else a voice from the front sounds, “The film talked about a research lab that was destroyed due to a nuclear reactor meltdown.”

Ms. Solomon looks pleased and nods her head, “That is correct. You may sit down Katie.” The girl in the front pulls her chair back out and quickly sits down. The now smiling teacher directs her next question to the rest of the class, “And what was the result of that meltdown?”

This time the answer came immediately, “It killed all but 60 the workers, and of those 60 workers the ones who had kids gave birth to the first known Insigs.”

“Very good, Jeremiah. You too may take your seat,” the teacher says. “Does anybody remember the name of the isotope that created the mutations which allowed Insigs to exist?”

Surprisingly, Noah answers the next question without hesitation. “Cobalt-60,” he grins as he takes in the stunned faces around the room.

_I guess he doesn't usually answer questions in class...or maybe he doesn't usually answer them correctly._

Ms. Solomon inclines her head appreciatively, “On time and paying attention in class, well done Noah,” she congratulates.

“It was easy to remember,” he answers as he takes his seat, “ A buddy of mine reads a lot of comics and one of them is about a dude named Cobalt-60.”

Leaning against her desk Ms. Solomon replies, “Whatever works for you, as long as you memorize the material I'm happy.”

The class continues on like that for the next 20 minutes and eventually everyone has taken their seat except for me.

“Alright class, I think we've gone over everything from the film and we've got one student left standing. Rachel, since you're new I don't expect you to be able to answer any questions yet but since you just got a general overview of the conception of Insigs, are there any questions you'd like to _ask_? Anything you're unclear on?”

There's obviously still a ton of things I'm unclear on, but in regards to this particular lesson, just the creation of Insigs, I think I've got the gist of it. In 1740 a nuclear reactor meltdown altered the DNA of it's survivors, and when those survivors had children the mutated DNA was passed along. The gifts of those children laid dormant until after puberty, and then they surfaced. Currently it is believed that somewhere between 50,000 and 60,000 Insigs are out there. There were a lot of smaller details to the story but that's the main bullet points, and I'm very clear on them. “No ma'am, I'm fairly certain I understand all of what I've heard so far.”

“Okay good, you can take your seat,” she says as she picks up a stack of papers from her desk. “Now, if everyone was paying attention during the review, you should have no problem acing this pop quiz,” she beams while displaying the stack of papers.

A collective groan can be heard around the room and Ms. Solomon just chuckles, “It's either take it now and kill 15 minutes of class time, or I send you back to your rooms with it, and it becomes homework. Which would you prefer?”

Muttering erupts from all over the classroom and Noah speaks up, “I'll take it now Ms. Solomon, might as well kill some class time plus, it'll be easier since it's all fresh in my head.” I hear the students around us start to agree and the quizzes are passed around the room.

Once the last quiz is handed in Ms. Solomon checks her watch, “Hmm, only 15 minutes left but that's not going to be enough time for the lecture I had planned.” She steeples her fingers and taps them on her chin, “I suppose I'll just wait until next class to give the lecture. But in the meantime I'm going to go ahead and assign your semester project and you all can get started on it.”

Again, a unified groan was heard from the students. “Oh, quit your moaning and groaning,” Ms. Solomon jokes, “for this project you'll be working together and I'm allowing you to pick your partners.” As Ms. Solomon walks over to a cabinet she chuckles at the sounds of triumph resonating around the room. “Yeah, I thought you'd like that,” she mumbles while carrying a small basket back to her desk. “Before you guys pair up, let me explain this project. You and your partner will randomly choose a name from this basket, whoever you draw is the _start_ of your project. All the names in here are of Insigs who played an instrumental part in our history. Your task is to not only tell me about them, but also their descendants. You will essentially be making me a family tree with _lots_ of information about each branch. If your project gets done correctly you will find that your selected person's most recent and living relative is someone here on campus.” Ms. Solomon looks around the room mischievously, “Are there any questions, comments or concerns?”

Ms. Solomon answers a few of the student's questions about the project before dismissing us to pair up and grab a name from the basket. I glance at Noah and see him giving me puppy dog eyes before asking, “Will you be my partner for this project Rachel?”

I release an exaggerated breath and pretend to think about it. After a few moments of fake deliberation I concede, “I'll be your partner on one condition.” Noah instantly brightens and nods his head for me to continue. “You have to actually help with the project, you can't stick me with the whole thing, especially since I don't anything about Insig history. If you promise to equally contribute, I am more than willing to be your partner.”

Noah fist pumps triumphantly before schooling his features and agreeing to my terms. I shake my head at his childish absurdity as we make our way to the front to draw a name out of the basket. I look over to Noah and he gestures for me to pick the name. I grab the closest paper on top and unfold it.

“Charles Warner,” I read aloud. For the second time today Noah does a fist pump and clasps his hands together. “I am assuming this is a good person to do the projects on,” I question on the way back to our seats.

“Heck yeah,” Noah exclaims, “Charles Warner is one of the founders of the school, hell, this building is named after him. This is gonna be a piece of cake!”

After 15 minutes of planning how we are going to tackle this project (we decided once a week, we'll meet at the library and research Charles Warner and his subsequent descendants) the PA system makes its automated announcement, “It is now 9:00 AM and class has ended. You have 30 minutes to report to your second class.”

With that announcement the class begins to pack up their belongings and file out of the door.

“Don't forget,” Ms. Solomon shouts over the commotion in the hall and classroom, “your projects aren't due until November, but I expect a lot of in-depth content and details on your Insigs history and family tree. _Do not_ wait until the last week to start.”

Once Noah and I reach the hallway he asks what class I have next. “Hmm,” I pull out my wrinkled schedule and peer at it for a moment, “physics.”

Noah sucks air in through his teeth and looks at me apologetically, “Sucks to be you, I heard physics is tough which is why I'm taking biology instead. Best luck to you though.”

Emerging from Warner building, Noah and I survey the quad trying to find Sam. Noah spots him first due to his height advantage and we weave our way through the horde of students bustling about.

Sam greets us with his usual carefree smile and fist bumps Noah before quickly turning to me, “How was your first class,” he inquires.

“It was good, very informative and it actually has already answered some of the questions I had.”

Sam nods his head, “Good, I'm glad.” He pulls out his phone and checks the time, “Look I've got to go to the library real quick and get a book my lit teacher assigned, do you want to hang out here on the quad or...” he trails off.

“Actually Rachel needs to go to the library too,” Noah cuts in, “she needs some supplies.” He throws his arm over my shoulder again and continues, “And I'll come along cause I've got nothing better to,” he grins down at me. “Are you Jewish,” he asks randomly after we begin walking.

“Uh, yeah I am. Why?” I inquire curiously.

“Ha, I knew it! I can always sense a fellow Jew,” he boasts, “it's like a second gift.” The three of us make idle small talk on the way to the school's library, and on the short walk Noah deems me his 'Little Jewish American Princess'. I'm not a fan of the nickname but I suppose I could be and have been called worse, so I let it go.

When we reach our destination Sam pulls open one of the double doors and holds it open for Noah and I; much like the administrative building a cool rush of air meets me at the threshold, sending a small shiver down my spine. Stepping in and taking in my surrounds I quickly realize that calling this library huge would be an understatement. Almost every wall is lined top to bottom with books, and the second story can be seen from the ground floor, also lined with books. The first floor holds many desks and computers at it's center, some of which are currently in use by students. In the corners of the library couches and chairs are set up for study groups or an individual seeking a more comfortable seat. Other parts of the first floor are decorated with displays, some featuring new books and others showcasing student work. The second floor can be accessed via stone staircase next to the librarians desk and it appears most of the books are located up there on the numerous shelves that are lined up and down the second story.

“Okay so I gotta go find a book called _The Great Gatsby_ , while I'm doing that you can go get whatever you need from the receptionist, she's right down the hall on the other side of the librarians desk. Puck can show you.”

The blonde races off towards the staircase, seeming to have some idea of where to look for his book.

Noah ushers me into the hallway on the opposite side of library and we pass by a set of bathrooms and a water fountain before we come to an open archway. Inside a young dark skinned man is sitting at large desk with a computer screen in front of him and four giant cabinets along the wall behind him.

He glances up from his screen when we enter the room, “Good morning, what can I help the two of you with today.” His inquiry reveals a heavy Indian accent and he smiles politely.

“My name's Rachel Berry and I just started school here, but I don't have any of the basic school supplies. I was told that you,” I glance down at his name tag, “Raj, are the person I should come to.”

“Ah yes,” he replies, “I've been expecting you.” He rolls back from his desk and opens a cabinet. “I have your new school identification card right here and a book bag already packed with the essentials.” Raj slides a medium sized, light blue book bag across the desk towards me, “There's pens, pencils, paper, binders, notebooks and even a calculator in there,” he lists off, “that should be more than enough to get you started but if you find you need anything else, just come back here with your student ID.” Raj passes me a red rectangular card with my picture on it along with a series of numbers and a barcode. “This ID will allow you to come back and purchase whatever it is you may need in the future. To load money onto the card you will have to visit the administrative building, room 308.” The receptionist sits back down and continues, “You must also have this ID visible on your person at all times during school hours.” Raj opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a clear plastic case for the ID, a metal clip and a lanyard and hands them to me. “It doesn't matter how you wear it, as long as you wear it.”

I look over at Noah and for the first time today I notice he's wearing a similar blue ID clipped onto his belt. Taking a cue from him, I quickly slide my ID into the plastic sheath and use the clip to attach it to the top of my pocket.

“There is also a campus store located in the northwest corner of Somerbourne. Your ID can also be used there to purchase luxury items due to our minimal contact with the mainland.”

Raj explains a few more things to me and prints out a list of books that I will need for my classes, he sends us to the librarian for help finding the books and ten minutes later, my new book bag is stuffed to the brim and weighs about 30lbs.

Sam rejoins us as we venture back outside into the Florida heat. As I struggle to remain upright due to the heavy weight on my back I hear Noah chuckle.

“Want some help with that,” he offers and I gladly relinquish my grip on the straps and allow the muscular teen to pull it from my back.

“Thanks Noah,” I say, watching as he lifts the bag as if it weighed nothing and slings it over his free shoulder.

“No problem, anything for my Little Jewish American Princess,” he quips flashing a grin. I only get to roll my eyes before the automated voice fills the campus and warns, “It is now 9:25 AM and classes will begin in five minutes. Please proceed to your designated classrooms.”

I groan loudly, not yet ready to reclaim my 30lb bag.

“It's alright Rach,” Sam chimes in knowingly, “We can at least walk with you back to the quad, and it's a short walk from there to your next class.”

Once we reach the quad Noah returns my back pack, much to my dismay, and we head our separate ways, Sam and I agreeing to meet in the same spot as before. I make it to my classroom and my seat just as the automated voice rings out of the speaker announcing the time and that class has begun. Even though I don't recognize anybody in this class, at least it's a normal class. I can handle physics solo, I'm pretty good at math so this shouldn't be problem.

The door to the room bangs open and then closes loudly, an older gentleman with snow-white hair and a lanky frame stands in front of the class and with no pretense at all begins.

“I'm giving you all three minutes to write down as many linear motion formulas as you can without using your books. I want to see what all you know.” He shuffles over to a timer on his desk and twist the dial. “Your time starts now.”

_Oh damn. Maybe it won't be as easy as I thought._

* * *

 

One hour and 20 impossible to solve problems later, Sam and I are lugging my back pack to my room, there's no way I'll be able to carry all these books around for the rest of the day. We're just going to drop off all the stuff I don't need before returning to our next class.

“So what's your third class of the day,” Sam asks as we walk along the pebble filled path leading back to the dorms.

“EMC,” I reply without having to look at my schedule this time. This is the class I've been most looking forward to since talking to Mrs. Wilson. “Emotional Management Course,” I repeat, feeling the weight of the full name on my tongue. “What's it like,” I ask Sam.

The blonde's face bunches up in thought before shrugging, “Honestly, I don't know. I don't have EMC,” he admits.

“Wait, I thought you said everyone takes it to learn to control their gifts.” I glance up at Sam confused and have to shade my eyes from the bright sun.

“Weeell,” Sam considers, drawing out the word, “yes and no. Everyone here takes a 'gift based course,'” Sam explains using finger quotation marks. “But everyone's gift is different and there are different courses that focus specifically on the type of gift.”

We reach the steps of my building and I drop my bag on the ground, “What do you mean 'type of gift,'” I question as I turn to face the blonde.

“Well for example, you're telekinetic,” he begins, “Your gift is triggered by strong emotions, meaning that you would need to take a course on managing your emotions if you want to gain control. Taking EMC wouldn't help me at all because _my_ gift has nothing to do with my emotions. Mine has to do with my body and how it functions, so I take CDC which is like EMC but for the body instead of emotions.”

“What's CDC stand for?”

“It's Corporeal Discipline Course, and it's a mouth full to say,” Sam grins at me and shoos me inside to dump all my extra books and supplies.

Thankfully my roommate and her snarky girlfriend aren't in the dorm, not that I expected them to be but with my luck lately I wouldn't be surprised.

I hurriedly pull out everything from my bag except for a few pens and pencils and a notebook. Only three classes left and there's not a text book for EMC or for power training. I'm not sure what elective I have, but there's a room number next to the class on my schedule so I'll find out later today.

I leave everything on my bed and head back down the stairs to find Sam. When I step outside Sam is still in the same spot but he's talking to another student. I slowly approach the pair and stop just short of Sam.

The blonde sees me and waves me in closer for introductions, “Rachel this is Mercedes, Mercedes this is Rachel.”

I offer a polite smile and small wave and the girl does the same in return.

“Me and Mercedes were just talking about the Somerbourne glee club, we're looking for some new voices this year,” Sam directs at me and then to Mercedes, “Rachel was the best singer in her old glee club. She's crazy talented.”

Mercedes nods her head appreciatively, “you should definitely try out for the club then. We could always use more voices.”

My gaze finds the ground as I consider the offer.

 _It's been so long since I've sang, I mean since I've_ really _sang, like belted out a whole song, not just mumbled or hummed a verse or two. Despite everything that has happened in my life I still love to sing and perform. Due to recent circumstances I have been unable to but this just might be the perfect opportunity to get back into it. Unlike my last glee club, I won't have to hide who I am or what I can do. I won't have to be in a near constant state of fear. I think this might be the perfect opportunity for me get back on the right track._

“When and where are try-outs,” I ask with a new determination.

A large smile spreads across Mercedes face, “Just come by the auditorium during 5th hour, tell them you're interested in glee club and it shouldn't be a problem.”

I express my thanks to Mercedes but she waves me off, “Don't thank me girl, thank those vocal chords you got cause if you can sing half as good as Sam says you can, we'll be blowing through sectionals this year and headed straight for regional, and maybe, if we can get our act together this year, we can take state.”

Dumbfounded I ask, “You compete? Against other schools?”

Sam just chuckles at my naivety while Mercedes answers, “Of course we do! We might be confined to this island 95% of the time, but for competitions we're allowed to leave.”

“But—I mean,” I try to articulate without coming off as offensive, “but is that safe? I mean because of everyone's gifts. What if something were to happen?”

Mercedes regards me carefully before answering, “I understand that you're new here and new in general to the whole Insig thing, but I can assure you that the students here are no more dangerous than the people out there,” she points off in the direction of the mainland. “Sometimes we make mistakes here and sometimes they make mistakes out there. It's not our gifts that are dangerous, but our intentions. Occasionally people will slip up, fall down or just plain give in, but that flaw is not exclusively reserved for us. That flaw is worldwide and mankind as a whole suffers from it. It's our choices that determine whether we're dangerous, not our DNA. So to single us out and label us as more dangerous than the mass population is not only inaccurate but also insulting.”

I stare at the girl wide-eyed, taken aback by her justification and surprised by its truthfulness. I never even thought to look at it that way. I automatically assumed that we are dangerous because we possess a gift that has the potential to be harmful. But according to Mercedes belief, we are no more dangerous than...say, a man with a gun. Yes, he has a gun and yes that gun holds the potential to hurt others, but if that man never fires the gun with ill-intent, he is not a threat. Same goes for Insigs, or even me specifically. I have a gift that could harm others, but I also have the freewill to choose whether or not I do so. The danger doesn't lie within my gift; it lies within my intentions.

“I'm so sorry,” I begin, “I didn't mean to imply all of that. I've never even thought about it in-depth until you said that.”

Strangely, Mercedes doesn't look angry—she looks maybe slightly annoyed but that has lessened since my apology—but behind that she has a look in her eyes, a glimmer of sadness, maybe a sliver of sorrow?

“Like I said, I understand that you're new here so I'm not taking it personally, but it's that kind of generic thinking that has kept us from the public's eye all these years. People are quick to assume without fully thinking things through.”

Mercedes smiles sadly and all I can do is make her a promise, “I really am truly sorry for what I said, and I'm embarrassed that I even said it at all. I promise you won't hear anything like that from me again.”

She nods her head in acceptance and smiles a bit wider, I flash my signature Rachel Berry smile and look over to Sam.

“Oh, and I'll never say anything like that either,” then he adds, “but I wouldn't have before anyways. I mean, who could I possible harm with my gift? Besides maybe Taylor Lautner acting career.”

And just like that the somber moment passes and is replaced by fits of laughter from the three of us.

After we catch our breath I notice a very stylish boy walking over to our small group. He looks vaguely familiar, I think he is one of Sam's friends from the game room.

As he approaches he looks puzzled, “What are you guys doing way over here? Next class is in,” he checks his watch, “seven minutes.”

“Aw crap,” falls from Sam's mouth as he picks up his discarded back pack from the ground. “We should go, we're all going to the same building anyway.”

As we make our way back the quad, the boy from the game room, the one with the very smooth looking face turns to me, “You're Rachel right?”

“Yes, but I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember your name,” I apologize.

“I'm Kurt,” is his response. “Sam told me you sang in your old glee club. Would you be interested in joining ours here at Somerbourne?”

Mercedes drops back to walk along side him, “You're too late, I already recruited her,” she smiles victoriously.

Kurt looks surprised but genuinely pleased, “It's not a contest Mercedes, but if it were you'd still be losing,” he smirks sideways at his friend.

Just as the quad came into view the the PA system announced their five minute warning.

“Just in time,”sighs Mercedes as all the students begin converging on the two buildings.

This time at the doors I am able to squeeze myself through some of the smaller openings between students. Sam and his friends are unable to follow me and I lose them momentarily. When Sam calls my name I glance back over my shoulder, only to run straight into another student. We both stumble backwards but before an apology can even leave my lips I hear, “Walk much, RuPaul?”

My gaze shoots up to see the girl I collided with and I immediately recognize her. She's the other girl from the game room, the blonde one who called me a midget.

“She asked you a question, hobbit,” sneered the Latina. Of course Santana is with her.

_Murphy, I just want you to know that I hate you and your stupid law._

“I heard the question,” I reply boldly, “however it couldn't have been directed at me because my name _is not_ RuPaul.”

The blonde lifts one eyebrow, “Oh really? Because you could have fooled me,” she antagonizes casually.

I am acutely aware of my emotions taking over, the steady pace of my anger advancing further and further towards the ultimate goal.

I try to slow it down, hold it back, but the blonde isn't making it easy.

“Let's see, man-hands? Check. Facial stubble? Check. And I'll bet dollars to donuts that you're packing something a little extra in those jeans,” she cruelly provokes. The blonde only smirks at my lack of response.

Little does she know, it's taking everything in me to keep from flinging her across the hallway.

All of a sudden there's a hand on my shoulder and I can tell it's Sam, “Come on Rachel, let's go.” He pulls me to less crowded area of the hallway, and I can still hear Santana and the blonde laughing. Kurt and Mercedes flank either side of me and Sam stands in front.

“Don't pay any attention to them,” says Kurt, “they like to terrorize other students because they're dead inside.”

“Yeah,” Mercedes agrees, “If you don't rise to their bait, they'll eventually back off.”

“You did good Rachel,” Sam praises, “We saw what was happening but we couldn't get through quick enough. You did really well though, you didn't stoop to their level and you kept in control.”

I don't respond to any of them, I focus on my breathing.

_Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Deep calming breaths._

Slowly I come back to my senses, my hands un-balling and the blood beginning to circulate again.

“Rach, are you okay,” Sam questions after a minute with no reply.

I take one last deep breath and nod my head. On the exhale I can't help the sarcasm that comes flying out, “Well isn't she just a big ball of sunshine.”

The three of them have looks of relief on their face when I finally respond. I glance around the hallway and see it is nearly empty meaning it must almost be 11.

The sound of giggling pulls me even further from my previous mood as I turn back and see Mercedes trying to stifle the sound with her hand but failing.

“What's so funny,” Sam asks with a puzzled look at Mercedes.

“Oh, it's nothing really,” she says between her chuckles. “It's just Rachel said that Quinn was a _ball of sunshine,_ ” replies Mercedes, another chuckle building in her stomach. “A _ball of SUNSHINE_ ,” she repeats unable to contain herself.

Kurt snaps his head up as he understands and starts laughing along with Mercedes.

“ _Sunshine_ ,” Mercedes wheezes, unable to catch her breath now.

“I...don't understand what's so funny right now,” I say blankly, glancing over at Sam.

“Me either.”

“Rachel got it wrong,” attempts Mercedes between breaths, “Quinn isn't the ball of sunshine, Santana is!” The cackling grew louder between the two of them and suddenly Sam was in on the joke as he too began laughing.

Unable to understand whats going on I stare plainly at them laughing foolishly in the middle of a nearly empty hallway.

Not wanting to feel left out anymore, I take a step back out of the group. “Class is about to start,” I announce, “so I'm going to go, but you guys feel free to stay here in the hallway laughing like maniacs.”

I make my way down the hallway and find my classroom. Before I enter the room I hear Kurt gasping to announce to the group between breaths, “It's only funny cause Quinn is the _polar_ opposite.” The three of them erupt in a new round of laughter and I see Mercedes sink down along the wall, unable to hold herself up any longer.

Just as I cross the threshold into the room the PA speakers buzz to life and and make their announcement, “It is now 11:00 AM and classes have begun.”

 


	7. First Day Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter is a long one... so be ready for that. It might also seem a little jumbled at parts but I couldn't figure out how to fit all the information in there in a way I wanted so if something doesn't make sense to you feel free to ask and I'll explain to you. AND for those of you who didn't notice, I've basically created a whole universe in my head that these characters live in and it's going to take a background information to understand it. I've been trying to keep it equal parts plot and information but I don't know if I'm doing a good job, so sorry if some parts seem a bit dry or rushed, it just because I'm trying to the information out there so that the plot will make since later.  
> Okay, I'm done now. Happy reading.  
> Oh PS this chapter was originally 26 pages long in Microsoft Word so I had to split it up. I'll be post part 3 as soon as I'm finished editing it.

Just as I cross the threshold into the room the PA speakers buzz to life and make their announcement, “It is now 11:00 AM and classes have begun.”

The door clicks closed faintly behind me as my eyes sweep the room. Being the last person to arrive leaves me with only two seating options so I choose the one closest to me. As I settle into my seat I notice the teacher of this class hasn't shown up yet so I take a quick look around the classroom and familiarize myself.

The first thing I noticed when I walked in was the formation of the desks, arranged in a half-circle or horseshoe shape and all the desks facing inward. The next immediate thing to draw my attention is the size of the room which it is unusually large, approximately the size of three classrooms put together. The student's desk only occupy about half of the room and the other half is empty aside from a large rolling whiteboard pushed up against the furthest wall. The last oddity of the room are the windows, or rather the lack of them. Only one window is present and it's located in the center of the wall, though I suppose it makes sense given that I saw only a few windows on the lower floor of this building earlier from the quad. 

A whisper from my left plucks me from my examination. “Are you new,” the smooth voice questions. 

I drag my eyes around to find the source of the voice and come face to face with a good-looking guy with blue eyes and loose wavy hair. 

“I know almost every senior on campus,” he continues, his eyes wandering over my face in search of some kind of identifying feature, “but you...you I don't seem to recognize.” 

I can immediately tell that this is a confident guy—cocky even, by his body language and tone of voice. His posture and demeanor scream self-assurance and the look on his face displays fortitude. 

“I'm Jesse,” he articulates and holds out his hand. 

I grasp his outstretched hand and respond in kind, “I'm Rachel.”

“It's nice to meet you Rachel,” he smiles as the door to the class opens up and a red-haired woman carrying a stack of papers walks quickly to the front of the class. 

“I apologize for my tardiness,” she huffs as she places the pile of papers neatly on her desk which is located at the opening of the half-circle. 

“I was just informed that today we have a new student joining us, Ms. Rachel Berry.” 

For the third time today the entire class cranes their necks to look, everyone except Jesse who continues to face forward with a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Welcome to Somerbourne Rachel, my name is Ms. Pillsbury,” the redhead smiles politely and proceeds, “Last week was largely spent going over the syllabus for this course and having everyone get acquainted with each other, regrettably you missed that portion.”

Ms. Pillsbury grabs the top paper on her stack and walks over to my desk, placing the paper down. “This is your syllabus and if you have any questions about it feel free to ask me or another student to clarify.” Making her way back to the top of the U shape she picks up the remaining stack and addresses the whole class.

“Today I am going to have you all take an assessment but don't worry, there are no wrong answers and it will not be graded.” 

Walking around the circle she places a paper on each student's desk while talking,“This assessment will determine which of two groups you will be placed in for the duration of the class, and that group will focus on your specific needs. Please try and answer each question as honestly as possible, giving false answers could result in you being placed in the wrong group. There are 30 questions but no time limit so there's no need to rush. Once all your papers have been handed in I will split you into your groups and we will begin. Are there any questions,” the teacher inquires standing back by her desk. No one speaks up and we are given permission to begin. 

* * *

 

A little while later after all the assessments have been collected and evaluated, Ms. Pillsbury stands at the front of the class and announces, “When I call your name please pick up your chair and move to the other side of the class.” She points to the empty half of the room where the rolling whiteboard is located. As Ms. Pillsbury moves down her list I watch as an assortment of students pick up their chairs and walk to the other side. After about a dozen names she stops, leaving myself, Jesse and others still sitting in our original seats. The students are pretty evenly divided up and both sides are made of various students, no obvious commonality among them. 

Ms. Pillsbury faces the students still at the desks, “Those of you remaining please situate yourselves so that you are all sitting next to one another. I'll be back over to give you your assignments in a few minutes.” 

The remaining students share inquisitive glances as Ms. Pillsbury crosses the room to address the other group. Jesse is the first to stand up and move to a desk in the middle, one that makes up part of the curve. I follow behind him and take a seat next to him as the others begin to do the same. 

He displays a conspiring smile as he leans over and whispers, “So how do you think she picked the groups?”

I meet his gaze and he raises a questioning eyebrow. “I'm not sure,” I reply honestly. “Some of those questions were incredibly personal and others seemed pointless. I couldn't tell what she was trying to determine.”  

“Yeah,” Jessie agrees, “Like that one question asking if you lie awake at night thinking about things that upset you during the day.” Jesse releases a chuckle, “And then it was immediately followed by asking if you'd skydive for 5000 dollars.” 

“Do you think it was some kind of personality test,” he asks.

_ I honestly doubt it. I’ve taken dozens of personality tests over the years, most of which I took after the incident, but this assessment didn’t really seem similar to any other. Sure a few of the questions resembled a few of the tests I took, but this assessment felt incredibly random. _

“I don’t think so,” I muse while shaking my head, “It probably has something to do with our gifts.”

Jesse mulls it over and nods his head appreciatively, “You’re probably right.” 

Ms. Pillsbury returns to our group several minutes later and signals for us to quiet down. 

“You all have been put in this second group based on your assessment results. As you all know by now your gifts correspond with your emotions, and when those emotions are pushed to extreme levels, your gifts become harder to control.” Her eyes pass over each of us before she continues, “It's been theorized that nearly every Insig with an emotionally fuelled gift tends to fall on one of two sides of a spectrum.”

All the students on this half of the room—myself included, are listening with unwavering attention, waiting to hear Ms. Pillsbury's final declaration. Much to our dismay, she veers to another topic.

“Have any of you heard of Robert Plutchik's Wheel of Emotions,” she quizzes. When nobody speaks up she continues. “Simply put it's a theory that says there are eight primary emotions; anger, fear, sadness, disgust, surprise, anticipation, trust and joy,” she lists while counting out on her hands. “And each of these emotions have varying degrees of intensity. Understand?” 

Ms. Pillsbury regards the students faces, waiting until we nod our heads in understanding. “Now, let’s use sadness as an example,” she begins while slowly pacing around the desks,”If we take this emotion and crank its intensity all the way up, it becomes grief. Sad is the middle ground and grief is its extreme. Does that make sense?”

A few nod and murmurs of agreement before continuing.

“And reversely, if we dial it back to the lowest level of intensity it can become mere pensiveness. So since the emotion sad is a middle ground, depending on the situation, it can be transformed into either grief, pensiveness or something inbetween.” 

The redhead stops pacing and scans the faces of her students, eyes begging that we understand what she’s telling us.“It is when an emotion is turned all the way up to high intensity that gifts become harder to control; when sadness become grief or fear becomes terror or even when joy becomes ecstasy.” 

The sound of giggling reaches my ears and I tear my attention from Ms. Pillsbury to see a few students hiding their smiles behind their hands.  

Realizing what the students found amusing, the teacher's cheeks burn the same color as her hair. 

“Honestly guys,” Jesse breaks in with an exasperated sigh, “We're all seniors here, not some pre pubescent teens taking sex-ed for the first time. Grow up.” Jesse's words quiet down the laughing students and allow Ms. Pillsbury to continue. 

“As I was saying,” she articulates, “It's these extremes that make it hard to maintain control and after years of research it’s been discovered that Insigs with emotion based gifts tend to reach the extreme levels more often with two primary emotions, anger or fear.”

I wince at my two options, neither being desirable but one clearly more fitting. 

“In this groups case, you all land on the anger side of the spectrum.”

The faces of the students around me read pretty much the same as mine and Ms. Pillsbury quickly picks up on that. 

“This is not a bad thing kids,” she adds and chuckles a little, “Every year when I announce the groups I always get the same disgruntled reactions from both. This classification doesn't at all reflect badly on you.”

Disbelieving faces stare up the redhead, all of us trying to determine whether or not to believe her. 

“Listen, just because anger is the igniting emotion of your gift it doesn't mean that you're an angry person. It doesn't mean that you're more prone to violent outbursts than anyone else.” Ms. Pillsbury looks at us with hopeful eyes, pleading for us to accept and believe what she's saying, “All it means is that when you become upset, it escalates more quickly. It doesn't make you more likely to become angry, it just intensifies that emotion once it's surfaced.” 

Ms. Pillsbury's gaze travels around the desks, checking to make sure she has gotten her point across. Seeming satisfied she continues, “During the course of your time here at Somerbourne, all of your previous EMC instructors have taught you different techniques to manage and retrain your emotions. In your senior year we will be focusing less on managing them and more on channeling them in a safe way.” 

“I know that your PT courses have allowed you to somewhat learn to channel your gifts, but this year there will be specific instruction to further help you. You will learn to call upon your gift at will—if you haven't already—and how to release your gift safely and with control.”

Everyone around me starts to murmur at the prospect, they're all eager to begin but I’m filled with dread. 

_ Everyone else has had years of practice, they all know what they're doing and how to control their gifts adequately at the very least. I am new here and new to this gift, I haven't learned control of anything yet. _

“For the final 20 minutes of class I want you all to work together and come up with a list of everything you've learned from your previous EMC instructors. I want everything written down, no matter how basic or insignificant it may seem. If someone in your group doesn't recall learning about it, you need to remind them because in order to move on you all need to know the basics; from here on out we're going to be building on them.” 

Ms. Pillsbury glances in my direction and seems to realize that I know absolutely nothing about managing emotions because she offers a sympathetic face, “For this assignment Rachel, I want you to take your own notes and try and keep up as best as you can, after class I'll find someone to help you catch up on everything you've missed.” 

I give Ms. Pillsbury a grateful smile and she returns it. A moment later Jesse speaks up, “I'll help her out Ms. Pillsbury.”

He flashes me a grin and turns to face our teacher. “I don't mind helping a new student out,” he claims brightly, “I remember how difficult it was for me to catch up when I first got here. I think I'll really be able to help out.” 

Ms. Pillsbury looks pleased and nods her head, “That very considerate of you Jesse! I think that's a wonderful idea.”

Jesse shrugs his shoulders in a humble gesture, “It's no big deal really, I just want to help a fellow student through the same thing I went through.”

Ms. Pillsbury soon leaves us to start our assignment and Jesse looks over to me. “So how do you want to go about catching up?” 

I hesitate for a moment, not sure how to answer because I'm not sure of his intentions. 

_ Handsome strangers never volunteer to do something without their own personal agenda. Or at least they never have in my own personal experience. Is Jesse working some angle? At McKinley this would have been a sure set-up but at Somerbourne, I don't know. Jesse seems like an okay guy, he may be a bit full of himself but I could say the same about Noah and he turned out to be alright. Actually, besides Sam, Noah is the only other person I would consider a friend. So far Jesse hasn't done anything to make me believe he shouldn't be trusted.  _

“Since I'm going to be taking notes about the basics, I suppose we could set a time to meet up and go over each point in-depth. Would that work for you?” 

Jesse smiles happily and agrees, “Works for me. How does after school sound, say maybe five o'clock in the library?” 

We agree on the time and place and set to work; Jesse contributing to the growing list of techniques while I take notes on everything being said. 

When the overhead announcement is made at the end of class, we turn in our page long list to the smiling redhead and file out of the room and into the crowded hallway. Sam and I didn't explicitly agree to meet up in the quad after class but I'm reasonably sure that's the plan. 

Jesse falls into step beside me as I maneuver my way to the main doors to exit the building.

“So where are you headed to,” he inquires conversationally as we slowly shuffle closer to the doors, the massive flow of students creating a bottleneck effect at the exit.

“The quad,” I reply loudly over the noise of students, “I'm supposed to meet my friend out there. What about you?”  

“I'm probably headed to the Den,” he states while easily dodging the students around him. “I've got first lunch so I'm going to go hang out until 12:30.” Finally we are pushed out of the building and encompassed in fresh air. Jesse comes around to stand in front of me on the path and bids me farewell. “It was nice meeting you Rachel, and good luck in your other classes.” He smiles as he takes a few steps backwards before turning around and strolling away, but before he gets too far he turns back and calls, “Oh, and I'll see later. Library at five?” 

I nod my head emphatically and Jesse grins then turns his back to me. 

“Are you friends with that guy,” Sam questions from behind. 

I startle at the unexpected intrusion and whirl around to face the blonde. “Geez Sam, you scared me! Don't sneak up on people like that,” I snap. 

Sam mutters an apology then repeats, “But are you friends with that guy?” He nods his head in the direction Jesse left and I glance over my shoulder in time to see him disappear into a large crowd of students. 

“I wouldn't say 'friends' but we have a class together and he's offered to help me catch up in EMC.”

Sam shakes his head in warning, his blonde locks flopping around. “You should stay away from Jesse,” he suggests with a serious look. “There's all kinds of stories about that dude and none of them are good.” 

My eyebrows furrow at the slight frown on Sam's normally carefree face. “What's so bad about him? He seems alright to me.” 

Sam glances around the quad suspiciously then pulls me over to an unoccupied table. He leans over the tabletop and speaks in a low tone, “Jesse ran in a really bad crowd before he was brought to Somerbourne. He used his gift to do illegal things and his last stunt almost outed us. His parents forced him to come here to keep him out of trouble.”  

“What did he do,” I ask curiously. 

“I heard that he was in a gang but Puck swears he tried to rob a bank,” Sam shrugs undecided.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I'm unable to hold it in. “Sam, you realize those are just rumors right? Normal high school rumors. Not to mention Jesse doesn't seem like the type of guy to get his hands dirty.” 

Sam makes a sound of disagreement but concedes, “Okay, maybe he didn't rob a bank or whatever but I'm telling you, the decent guy he's pretending to be is just an act; the dude is bad news. Be careful around him.” 

I only nod my head in understanding to appease Sam and end the conversation. 

_ I have been in Jesse's shoes, the entertaining spotlight of rumors. I know first-hand how devastating they can be and I don't plan on subjecting Jesse to that. He has been nothing but friendly towards me and until that changes or some irrefutable truth comes out about him, I won't let rumors cloud my judgment.  _

Sam appears placated for the time being so we sit in silence for a few long moments. A commotion on the far side of the quad grabs my attention and Sam turns around in his seat curiously. 

A mass of students quickly swarm the area where the commotion is occurring and obstructs our view. 

“What do you think is happening,” I ask the blonde.

He stands up and strains his neck to try and catch a glimpse around the crowd. “I don't know,” he responds and glances down at the table. A grin spreads across his face as he hops onto the table and I squeal in surprise. 

“I still can't see what's happening,” he informs me from his place above. “Whatever it is mus--” Sam’s sentence is cut short by a transparent blue light that suddenly encompasses a small circular area in the center of the crowd. In an instant all of the students who gathered around the commotion are hurrying away, no longer wanting to be so close. 

“What the hell is that,” I question dumbly, unable to tear my eyes from the translucent orb. 

As the students fan out, Sam and I get a clear view of the spectacle that originally drew them in.

Two teens stand at the center of the commotion shouting at each other. The one on the right appears to be the source of the blue light. He is encased in the circular light, it shimmering and fluctuating slightly. The guy on the left is wearing a letterman jacket and is standing just outside of the light, not moving any closer but continuing to yell and gesture. Sam and I are too far away to be able to make out what they’re shouting at each other but whatever it is, it's clear that both boys are angry. 

“Uh oh,” Sam murmurs as he jumps down off the table. 

“What? What is it? What's happening,” I rapidly question the blonde. 

He doesn't answer and after a moment I see what he saw. The guy in the letterman jacket is holding his fists tightly at his sides as they begin to glow. The more he screams the brighter his fists glow and the students in the quad murmur nervously. 

Just as the teen cocks back to punch, several people in uniform rush over and intervene. Both guys are forcefully grabbed and led towards the administration building. Curiously, when the teens were grabbed the shimmering light disappeared and the other boy's hands ceased glowing instantaneously.

Students in the quad stare at the retreating uniforms and once they're out of sight they chatter excitedly among themselves about the events that just transpired. 

“What just happened,” I ask Sam again and we both take our seats. 

“Well it looked like Karofsky was trying to fight Brody but campus security stopped them,” he says casually. 

“What about the blue bubble and that guy's hands?” 

Sam pulls a small bag of chips from his backpack and tears it open. Tossing a chip in his mouth he responds nonchalantly, “Brody can generate force fields, so that's what the blue bubble was. And Karofsky…well basically he can shoot beams of energy from his hands like lasers.” 

My jaw drops at the new information. Up to this point the only other gifts I knew about were Sam's shapeshifting and Mrs. Wilson's ability to read minds. 

_ I know that all the students who attend school here have some kind of gift, I just never stopped to imagine all the different types. I never knew that some of them could be so...destructive. I would have never guessed that being able to shoot laser beams from hands would be a type of gift. Although I am immensely glad that is not my gift, I probably would have killed someone by now. But knowing that each student’s abilities go far beyond what I could have ever imagined, it begs the question, what are these other gifts that I've yet to become privy to? What is Noah’s gift or my roommate Brittany’s? What about Jesse, or Santana and her blonde friend? _

“Uh, Rach?” Sam waves his hand in front of my unblinking eyes. “You might wanna close your mouth before a fly gets in there,” he chuckles and I snap my mouth shut. 

“I never thought about all the different possibilities,” I tell Sam. “I only know of three different gifts yet here I am on an island surrounded by people with different abilities. I can't believe I never thought about it before.”

“Well not every gift is different, there's people here with the same gifts,” explains Sam while munching on another chip. “There's like five other meta-shifters here! And a bunch of students can create different kinds of force fields.” 

I hesitate for a moment before asking, “What about my gift? Are there others here like me?” 

“I'm not really sure...there are no other telekinetic students that I know of but that doesn't mean anything. I don't know everyone who goes here. There's probably at least one other person.” Sam's attempt to ease my mind fails but I appreciate the effort. 

Just then I spot Noah and another guy quickly approaching us. Before they even reach our table, Noah's deep voice sounds, “Holy shit dude, did you see Karofsky almost wreck that guy?” 

The two of them plop down at the table, an excited look on Noah's face. Sam turns his attention to the newcomers, “Yeah man, but why was Karofsky so ticked off?”

The guy with Noah—Finn I think his name was—answers, “Well, Brody was basically calling Karofsky gay and so Karofsky got pissed. They just kinda yelled insults at first but then Karofsky threatened Brody.” 

Noah takes over the story with a troubling amount of enthusiasm, telling it like it were an action movie, “So Brody throws up his field, of course. Can't really blame the guy after Karofsky threatened to grill his ass and serve him up as hamburgers, but anyways Karofsky is crazy pissed, he's standing there calling him a bitch and telling him to drop his field and fight him like a man. And then Brody fucks up.” 

Noah pauses his story for an added effect and Sam and I fixate on him, waiting for him to finish. “Brody said, and I quote, ‘You are fucking disgusting. When you slithered out of your mother's filth, they should have put you in a glass jar on a mantlepiece.’ Karofsky absolutely lost it and was about to unleash on that homophobic asshole when security showed up.” 

Entirely conflicted over the whole situation I ask, “Does that sort of thing happen often?”

Noah scratches his head and considers for a moment, “No, not really. It happens maybe a few times a year.” He glances around the table for confirmation and Sam and Finn nod their heads in agreement. He nudges my arm playfully. “Aren't you glad you got to see this on your first day?” He grins slyly at me and I roll my eyes. 

“Honestly I'd have preferred not to have to witness anything like that at all.” I turn away from Noah and focus on Sam, wanting to change the subject.

“Will we have lunch anytime soon? I haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon and I'm starving.” As if to punctuate my statement, my stomach lets loose a long low growl. 

Sam laughs and nods, “Yeah, we've got third lunch so we'll get to eat after our next class.” 

Finn angles his body towards me to politely ask, “What is your next class?” 

“PT,” I answer somewhat hesitantly. I still don't know what to expect when it comes to this class, all I can think about though are Mrs. Wilson's words about students sometimes being injured. 

Finn must see the fear in my eyes because he tries to reassure me, “It's nothing to worry about, Rachel. Me and Puck just came from PT and the course today wasn’t too bad, right?” Finn looks to his friend for support but is instead met with a scoff. 

“Easy for you maybe, but for the rest of us who aren't practically invincible it was kinda tough.” 

An amused laugh sounds from behind me and a familiar voice announces, “Did I just hear the almighty 'Puckzilla’ admit defeat? And to a PT course of all things?” 

I look over my shoulder to see Mercedes and Kurt coming to a stop behind me, Kurt crossing his arms over his chest victoriously, clearly happy with his jab. 

“Are you questioning my badassness? Have you seen my guns,” Noah defends while flexing his arms and making his muscles bulge. “I said it was tough but I didn't say anything about admitting defeat. These babies are fully loaded and we don't give up. Shit, our team won the course today!” 

Noah smiles smugly at Kurt who rolls his eyes but joins the rest of us sitting at the table and Mercedes follows behind him. The group gossips some more about the almost fight that just took place, everyone offering their own input on the situation, but for the most part I tune it out. 

I can't keep my mind from wondering to what Noah said about Finn being practically invincible. Is he really or was the other teen merely exaggerating? Either way, it still begs the question about everyone else's gift and what they could possibly be, this is all like something out of a superhero movie.

I have never been a fan of superhero movies but right now I wish I had been a slightly more normal child; one who sat in front of a TV on Saturday mornings and watched cartoons. At least then I'd have a  better idea of the possibilities because honestly! The gifts I've heard about so far all seem like something you'd hear about in a Superman comic. The only things I can come up with on my own are the ability to fly and x-ray vision. I know there are more out there but I'm drawing a blank, I can't recall anything else. 

“So about today's PT course,” Mercedes begins and I focus back in on the conversation happening around me. “What was it? Me and Kurt are going there next and I want some idea of what's waiting for us.” 

Before either Finn or Noah can answer, Sam breaks in, “Really? Me and Rachel are going there next too!” 

Kurt and Mercedes both look pleased by this new information. 

“So how is the course looking today,” Mercedes asks again. 

“It was...it was,” Finn stumbles, “I think Coach Beiste is still trying to figure out everyone's level. It started at a wal--” 

“It is now 12:25 PM and classes will begin in five minutes. Please proceed to your designated classrooms.” 

Noah chuckles and stands. “Looks like you'll just have to wait and see,” he announces before leaning over and speaking quietly to Sam. I can't hear what he says over the racket of students moving towards their next class, but Sam nods his head seriously. Noah straightens out and sends a wink in my direction before strolling towards Brewer Hall, away from the group. 

The rest of us get to our feet and walk the opposite way, back to Warner Hall. After making it through the doors and down the hallway Finn announces, “I'm upstairs. I'll see ya later.” He offers a grin and trots to the stairs at the end of the hall, the same one's Noah and I climbed earlier. The four of us remaining, Sam, Mercedes, Kurt and myself approach a propped open door, when we reach it Kurt and Mercedes pass through but Sam stops me short by placing a hand on my shoulder. 

I suddenly realize that this is the empty room I passed earlier this morning on my way HOI.

I look at Sam questioningly, “What?”

“Nothing, just...” Sam hesitates, trying to find the words. “PT can be a little intimidating the the first few times. It's sort of like a gym class and some kids love it and others hate it. Just know, I got your back in there.” 

I'm still a bit confused but I nod my head in understanding and follow Sam through the door. 

All the students in the class are standing freely along the far wall and Sam and I join them. We spot Mercedes and Kurt and plant ourselves beside them. 

This room looks similar to Ms. Pillsbury's room, but instead of desks being present, the whole room is empty. There is still one window on the wall in the center of the room that faces out at the quad but that's it. 

Everyone around us is talking quietly as we wait for the announcement that signals the start of class. 

“It is now 12:30 PM and classes have begun.”

Just as the speakers in the room click off, the classroom door swings open and in strides the instructor. She stands in the center of the classroom—which is fairly far from where we're standing up against the wall—and announces in a booming voice, “Good morning class.” 

“Good morning Coach Beiste.” The students voices all meld together in greeting then taper off. 

The coach comes forward a few paces and glances down to the clipboard in her hand. 

“We have a new student joining us today,” the coach bellows. 

I groan internally as student’s heads swivel around to find the new face.

“Rachel Berry,” she addresses, “I can appreciate that you’re new but there are no free passes in my class. I expect you to participate to the fullest of your abilities. Do you understand?”

I nod my head quickly, worried that if I use my voice it might break. Coach Beiste is intimidating. 

“Alright then, moving on,” she announces looking at her clipboard again, “Today we’re running a seven piece obstacle course.”

A few groans are heard but mostly it’s a positive response to the news. 

“We’re heading out to the field for this one so please be quiet in the hallways as we exit the building.”

I shoot Sam an inquisitive look but he just smiles and says, “Wait til you see how this is done. It’s crazy awesome.” 

I pull my eyebrows together in confusion but follow the class out to the huge field located behind the school. When we finally stop walking Sam, Mercedes and Kurt are surrounding me trying to explain how the courses are.

“They’re really fun Rach, you just gotta get into it,” Sam promises.

“I don’t know about fun but they’re definitely great when coach offers a prize at the end,” Mercedes supplied.

“I hate these courses,” Kurt huffs, “I can’t ever get through one without one of Beiste’s contraptions ruining my clothes.”

I want to inquire further but Coach steps to the front of us and blows a whistle loudly.

Suddenly things go hazy, the landscape bend and distort right before my eyes but oddly my classmates stay in focus. The scene around me fades out in a way that's similar to a TV screen having a magnet ran across it. Everything is warped into vertical waves before slowly coming back into focus, but when everything is clear again, we are no longer standing in an open field. Instead we are all in a room of some sort and a huge wooden wall is standing behind the Coach.. The wall has small two-by-fours nailed into it, making it look like it should be climbed but the planks of wood are spaced far apart and don’t resemble any sort of ladder shape. They look like they’ve just been randomly placed. 

“Okay...what... just happened,” I ask Sam slowly, my brain not fully comprehending what just happened around me. One second we were standing in a big empty field and the next we’re in a room with a 20 foot ceiling and a 15 foot wooden wall.

“Pretty cool right?” Sam has a goofy grin on his face and I elbow him lightly in the ribs.

“What just happened,” I repeat.

Sam rubs his ribs playfully and explains, “Coach Beiste’s gift is being able to warp reality into nearly anything.”

“But,” Mercedes interjects, “She usually just creates environments and situations where we get to use our gifts and learn control.”

“You mean she creates environments that are hazardous to designer clothes,” Kurt adds bitterly. He glances down at his vest and rubs the fabric tenderly, “I’m sorry,” he whispers to it.

Mercedes chuckles and rolls her eyes at her friend, “He’s a drama queen.”

“Am no-”

“Today is a group course,” Coach Beiste cuts into the conversation. “I'm going split y'all up into three separate teams and the first team to press the button and have all its team members at the finish line wins. The winners will receive an additional 20 credits on their student cards.” 

Everyone around us breaks out in excited murmurs. I haven't been to the campus store yet but from the reactions, I'm guessing 20 credits is a decent amount. 

“Remember, if you are unable to find your way through a particular obstacle, look to your teammates. The only way you will pass this course is with the help of your teammates. And don't be afraid to think outside the box, that's what this course is all about, becoming familiar with your gifts but also finding unconventional ways to use your gifts to help you succeed.” 

Coach Beiste glances around at the group one last time and declares it's time to begin. She tells us to line up in a straight row in front of her and immediately Sam, Mercedes and Kurt dissipate into the crowd of students, and I am left standing alone. 

I know can't say much about Kurt and Mercedes abandoning me—after all they never promised to have my back—but Sam, his actions throw me off and I look around for Sam as Coach Beiste starts to move down the line to assign students a number between one and three. Once all the students have been given a number the coach splits us up. 

“I want all number ones on the right, number twos on the left and number three's front and center.”

We all scramble to accommodate Coach Beiste’s demand and I find myself standing in the middle with the other students assigned the number three.  

Kurt and Mercedes are the first to approach me in the middle, congratulating each other on being able to force themselves in the same group. Next two Asians join our group, both of them looking vaguely familiar but I'm unable to place where I'd seen them at. Sam is the fifth to strut over, a look of triumph of on his face. 

“Dude, I totally counted out that perfectly,” he states to our group and high fives the Asian guy. 

“Sorry for ditching you Rach,” the blonde says turning to me, “If we had been standing right next to each other, we would have been but in separate groups.”

“Uh oh,” Mercedes whispers as our final two group members approach. 

I jerk my head up and see our group is completed with the addition of Santana and her blonde friend.

_ Alright Murphy this is getting ridiculous, I understand that you have a Law to uphold and all,but could you please give me a break? It's only my first day.  _

Once Santana reaches our group she looks at us with disdain but says nothing. Her blonde friend doesn't even bother to make eye contact. 

_ At least the silent treatment is better than unjustified bullying. _

“Alright y'all know the goal, be the first team to make it through and hit the buzzer. And remember, no using your gifts on other students with malicious intent.”

Coach Beiste blows her whistle and most of the students start off towards the wooden wall. A few hang back and watch but our entire group stands still. We all stand in place watching the other students try and bypass the wall. Quite a few of them scale the wall, using the two-by-fours to climb to the top and get over. One guys passes right through the wall with no problem, fading into the old wood and presumably coming out on the other side. Another student jumps to the top— _ literally _ jumps in one leap—and grasps to top of the wall, pulling himself over. 

I hear Mercedes voice ring out and I force myself to focus on my team instead of the other students. 

“We need to help each other through as many of these obstacles as possible if we want those credits,” she determines with a fierce look in her eyes. “But for this first obstacle my gift isn't capable of getting us over this wall. Is there anybody else who might be able to help?”

We all look around at each other, trying to determine who—if anyone can help. 

The skinny Asian guy speaks up, “I can stretch over it pretty easily but I won't be able to help anyone else.” He looks discouraged by his admission and the other Asian standing next to him replies, “It's okay Mike, you might be able to help everyone out later.” 

The guy, Mike, offers the girl a small smile and nods his head. She turns back and addresses the group, “I'm in the same situation as Mike, I can pass this obstacle easily but I won't be able to help anyone else.” 

Santana speaks up with an annoyed voice, “Great... Asians number one and two are useless, so we should probably start climbing this wall since there's no other chance of help for this one.” 

Though Santana's words are offensive, no one argues with her. It would take up too much time and our team needs to start soon. 

We all quickly make our way to the looming wall, it standing 15 feet tall and close to the ceiling.

_ The fictional ceiling? Reality warped ceiling? Is this room even real? I feel like I don’t know what’s going on anymore. _

I can't help but let out a shaky breath as I lay my hand on the first piece of wood. Sam appears on my left and gives me an encouraging smile. 

_ At least I can touch the ‘fake’ objects in the room. _

“Don't worry Rach, I got your back,” he repeats to me with an easy smile and shoulder bump. 

For some reason this gesture calms me and I begin to make my way up the wall with my other teammates. 

But before I'm even half way up the wall I see Mike surpassing me. His shadow is cast on the wall in front of me and his body has stretched beyond the limits of a normal human.

I pause in my ascension to watch him, his body spanning the height of the wall as if he were play-doh being stretched. I glance back down at the ground to try and glimpse his lower half but my eyes are immediately drawn to the Asian girl standing strangely at the bottom of the wall. She hasn't even made an attempt to scale the wooden wall and just as I am about to call out to Sam to inform him that she may need help, she suddenly disappears from the spot she was standing. I search for her with wide eyes and I'm suddenly hit with the memory the Den. 

The previous night, when Sam took me to the Den, which is basically Somerbourne's recreational building for students, I saw a guy stretching his limbs inhumanly. And when he drew them back in the girl in his arms disappeared from sight without warning.

This has the to be the two students I saw on my first night here! That's why they looked familiar. 

“Hurry up Man-Hands. Quit gawking at the Asians and move your ass.” I shoot the Latina below me a glare and almost lose my grip on the wood. My racing heart pulls me back to focus on the task at hand and a couple minutes later we are sitting atop the wall. Mike and Tina are on the ground already shouting words of encouragement up to us and we quickly scale back down the other side of the wall. 

With all eight of us firmly on the ground we look ahead to our next obstacle.

Even though we were the last group to pass over the wall, the race to the finish is still anybody's to win. Both groups who were ahead of us have come to a stop upon seeing the next obstacle. 

Less than 10 feet in front of us hangs hundreds and hundreds of thin neon colored wires. As our group approaches cautiously we can hear other groups conversing. 

“Well we can't push through it,” says one girl from the first group. “Maybe we can crawl under it? It looks like there might be enough space.” Their group nods in agreement and one of the students, a pale boy with glasses and a curly afro drops to his hands and knees before laying down completely on his stomach and inching towards the wires. 

Santana’s annoyed voice sounds from beside me, “What in the hell is Jewfro doing?” 

We watch out of curiosity as the boy slowly passes beneath the hanging wires, making sure to keep his entire body pressed to the floor. As he nears the end he gets excited and rushes to get from off the floor. Unfortunately he wasn't completely clear of the neon wires and a few of them brush against his back. 

At the contact he yelps in surprise and pain as a small shock is released from the few wires that grazed him. 

It didn't appear to be all that painful of a shock, probably no more than an electrostatic shock you would receive after walking across carpet and touching a metal doorknob. But the combined intensity of hundreds of those shocks at once is a little off putting. Certainly nothing I’d want to experience. 

“Looks like we know what we have to do,” declares Sam turning to face us all. “Unless there's someone who thinks they can help?” 

Once again we all glance around the group, checking to see if anyone’s gift will be of use here. 

“Maybe...” Mercedes says more to herself than anyone else. She is staring at the neon colors hanging from the ceiling and watching another student walk through them easily. He is apparently absorbing the electric shocks with ease, none of them seeming to faze him. 

“Pfft, fucking electricity manipulators,” Sanatana dismisses in a huff, clearly peeved by the student’s ability to easily navigate the intimidating field of current. 

“I think I might be able to help us guys” Mercedes speaks up. 

“How?” A few of our group questions at the same time. 

“Well, maybe…” she says taking a few steps towards the colorful but frightening hanging wires, “Maybe I can just…”  And suddenly a gust of wind can be felt in the room. It appears out of nowhere and blows the stings in all directions for a moment before it focuses and concentrates on one small area of the obstacle. A small path, no wider than three feet is cleared as the gust of wind pushes the wires out of the small path way and leaves it empty for us to pass through. 

“Alright!” Sam exclaims and he carefully walks through the now clear pathway, “Way to go Mercedes!” 

We all follow the blonde boy pronto, not wanting to be left behind or get stuck within the wires should something happen. 

As Santana and her friend enter the small clearing last, the Latina remarks, “Oh look, Wheezy’s gift is actually good for something.” 

“You better watch yourself Satan,” She warns while still concentrating on the task at hand. “It’d be unfortunate if you didn’t fully clear the wires before I quit my manipulation.” 

Santana must have realized the seriousness in the statement because she says nothing more, just shoots a glare in Mercedes’ directions. 

Once we’ve all cleared the area and the gust of wind dies down, we survey the other teams. Aside from the first boy who crawled under the wires and the second who passed through unaffected, our team is the only one with all its members on the other side.

I see the other teams struggling to find a way through the wires, some of the students attempting to use their gifts but ultimately coming up unsuccessful. A few of the braver students have already begun a slow crawl underneath the wires while others are still brainstorming. 

“What the hell is this?” 

I turn towards the sound of Santana’s voice and see she’s already approached our next obstacle. Towards the end of the room a simple metal door stands planted in the stone wall, effectively cutting us off from the next portion of the course. There is no window pane on the door and we cannot see what is on the other side. 

As we advance towards the door where Santana stands looking puzzled at the handle, I can see there is a small keypad just above it and a scanner of some sort. We briefly exchanged confused looks before Kurt speaks up, “It looks like a fingerprint scanner.” 

The Latina’s face scrunches up in annoyance.

“Yeah, no shit Lady Lips,” she insults just as easily as she breathes. 

I’m starting to realize Santana has mean nicknames for just about everyone. 

“Do you want to be the first to put your hand on there,” she inquires harshly. “Knowing Beiste it’ll probably shock the hell out of us or release some kind of vicious animal.” 

“It couldn’t be any worse than the one that’s already right in front of me,” Kurt replies without missing a beat. 

In an instant my mind is made up about Kurt. I like him. 

Santana scoffs and waves her hand at him dismissively. “Whatever, don’t listen to me. Please put your hand on the scanner, I’d love to see the result. I haven’t had a good laugh all day and I’m sure this will be hilarious.”

Kurt, suddenly nervous, glances around our group with fleeting eyes, unsure what to do. 

Sam shrugs his shoulders in response and Mercedes protests, telling him hell-to-the-no.

Mike and Tina remain quiet, standing a few steps away from the group and the blonde girl only lifts her eyebrow. 

I turn back to see how far the other groups have progressed in the wire obstacle and find that the first group is nearly completely finished, barring one student who is still army crawling on the floor. The second group isn’t much further behind, only two students left to come across.

If we don’t do something soon another group is going to catch up to us. Making up my mind, I march up to the scanner and declare, “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure Rachel?” Sam eyes me carefully, “As much as I hate to admit it, Santana has a point. We have no idea what will happen.” 

“Well we have to do something,” I exclaim, my competitive nature peeking out from it’s hiding place. “The other groups have almost caught up!” 

They all turn and note the progression of the other groups as I brace myself for whatever may happen. 

“Damn,” Sam mutters under his breath but still loud enough for us to hear. 

“This should be good,” Santana says with a smirk. “I really could use a goo--” 

Santana’s comment is cut short as I release the breath I’d been holding and quickly slam my hand down on the scanner. Reflexively my eyes squeeze shut and I tense up, waiting for some kind of unpleasant sensation to engulf me. 

I’m surprised when a loud beeping sounds from the door and I open my eyes to see small words flashing across the keypad. 

“Not recognized,” Sam reads aloud from the screen.

My hand retreats from the scanner and I am immensely grateful for the lack of pain. Now, because my body is thrumming with adrenaline, I can’t help the taunting words that flow from my mouth.

“Funny enough for you?” I direct towards Santana and she scowls at me. 

Her blonde friend, who hasn’t said a word since entering the class, huffs a quiet laugh as one side of her mouth pulls up in amusement.

I could be wrong but it appears that for once the blonde isn’t insulting, challenging or laughing at me. In fact, it looks like she might be laughing at Santana.

The Latina shoots her blonde friend a scathing look then rolls her eyes, confirming my theory.

Santana huffs and hustles me out of the way of the door and lays her hand on the scanner. Again it beeps loudly and the words ‘not recognized’ appear. 

We quickly take turns placing our hands on the scanner, hoping that maybe one of us will have the right prints. But of course, none of our hands are a match and we’re right back to square one. 

“Anyone got any other ideas,” Sam questions the group.

We all stand there looking between the hand scanner and the other groups, our eyes cutting quickly back and forth, searching for a solution. 

“Too bad Artie isn’t here,” Mike sighs dejectedly. “We’d be through that door in two seconds.”

“Yeah, well, Stubbles McCripple-Pants _isn’t_ here,” Santana informs pointedly. “So we’re just gonna have to come up with something else.”

_ Honestly, where does she come up with these names? Is there some sort of thesaurus for bullies that I am unaware of?  _

Tina sends a glare in the Latina’s direction as Mike glues his eyes to the ground, suddenly finding it very interesting. 

“Okay,” I quickly cut in, not wanting to get off track. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. Since we know none of our fingerprints work we’ll have to move on to the next logical step.” 

“And what step might that be,” Santana scoffs. 

“Finding out who’s fingerprints  _ will _ work.” 

Nearly the entire group looks confused by my statement. 

“But that’s what we just tried Rach. And no one’s worked.” Sam’s puzzled face is adopted by the rest of the group, all of them but the blonde girl. Her head is down but I can tell that she’s in deep thought; fingers on her chin and eyebrows scrunched together.

“Ours didn’t work but  _ somebody’s _ has to. There must at least one set of fingerprints programmed in there to be recognized, we just need to figure out who’s.” 

“Coach Beiste,” the blonde girl’s head shoots up. “Beiste created the course so it makes sense it would be her fingerprints that work on the scanner.” 

My eyes widen upon the revelation, the logic follows. Coach Beiste’s course, Coach Beiste’s fingerprints. 

“That’s a nice theory you got there Q, the only problem is Beiste isn’t here.” Santana’s remark doesn’t affect the blonde in the slightest. She just looks to the other blonde in the group and raises a perfect eyebrow. 

“That’s okay,” she says casually, maintaining eye contact with Sam, who still looks confused. “We don’t actually need her, we just need a replica.” 

With those words everything falls into place. I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder just in time to see the final member of the first group reaching the end of the wires. It’ll be less than a minute before they catch up to us. 

“Sam,” I hurriedly try to explain, “you have to make yourself look like Coach Beiste to get the scanner to work!” 

Sam nods his head energetically as he begins to slowly shift from himself to the hulking coach. As fascinating as the process is, I can’t watch Sam for more than a few seconds at a time. My eyes keep cutting to the other group who has just gotten all its members through the wires. 

Santana must have seen what I did because she rudely urges, “C’mon trouty mouth! Can’t you shift any faster?” 

Just as Sam completes his morph into the coach, the other group advances towards us. 

“Sam the scanner!” I can’t help the sense of urgency that runs through me. My competitive side has fully emerged from it’s long kept hiding place and is itching to win. 

The blonde boy slams his palm down on the scanner, or rather Coach Beiste’s palm, and the scanner blinks green twice and the sound of a lock clicking can be heard. 

I rush to grab the door handle and almost fall into it. Sam and I are the first two on the other side of the door followed by Kurt, Mercedes, Santana, Tina, Mike and lastly the blonde...or Q as the Latina called her. 

Kurt and I slam the door shut just as a student from the other group reaches it. We can hear his body knock into the door with force and the simultaneous rattle of the doorknob, which has locked back. 

I let out an excited breath and turn to the group, watching Sam shift back to himself. 

“Guess your theory turned out to be right, huh Quinn?” Santana nudges her friend, Quinn, but the blonde ignores her. Instead she glances around the small room with curious eyes, taking it all in. 

Feeling the need to at least acknowledge the blondes logical idea, I add on to Santana’s statement, “Yes, thanks to you we were able to maintain our lead. Your plan was ingenious and we might not have got through without it. So...thanks.” 

The blonde whips her head towards me and squints her eyes, trying to dissect me and my words piece by piece. I swallow hard but I find myself not feeling that same judgement that was radiating from the blonde every other time we’ve crossed paths. This time there is different look behind those hazel eyes, one I can’t quite interpret. Before I can properly grasp the look Quinn is sending my way, a high pitched frequency engulfs the room and for the first time I glance up. All four corners of the small room are fitted with speakers. Flowing from them is a high frequency sound that keeps getting louder and louder. 

“What is that,” Sam shouts over the noise. 

The sound continues to ring out louder and higher in pitch.

“Fuck! That’s annoying,” Santana yells over the sound, bringing her hands up to shield her ears.

We all copy Santana and place our hands over our ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise. 

I look frantically around the room for an off switch or really anything that would stop or disrupt the noise. The entire room is bare aside from eight distressed students and four large ceiling speakers. 

The sound continues to raise in pitch until suddenly it’s a ringing sound reverberating in my head and I feel discombobulated. I release a loud groan and stagger to the nearest wall, no longer clutching my head but instead hold out my arms to keep balance. 

I half slump and half crash into the wall when my hands makes contact. 

I chance a glance back at the rest of my group and they seem to be experiencing the same thing. 

Mike and Tina have fallen to their knees on the stone floor, Mike wrapping one arm around Tina’s head bringing her close to his chest in an attempt to shield her from the sound. 

Mercedes is gripping at her ears intensely with a pained look overtaking her features and Sam is doing the same. 

I can faintly hear Santana cursing but the ringing makes it difficult to make out exactly what colorful words Santana has chosen to exclaim. Quinn and Kurt both stumble towards me and the nearest wall and clutch it desperately, trying to keep their bearings. 

The ringing continues to grow impossibly higher and just when I think it’s reached its maximum volume, it stops. Just as abruptly as it began, it ends but the air in the room has a strange feel to it. I look around confused, “Is...is it over?” 

I attempt to stand upright and the room spins around me causing me to lose my footing and I crash back into the wall, missing Quinn’s leaning body by a few inches. 

“Sorry,” I breathe out to the blonde, suddenly feeling queasy. She says nothing but also tries to push away from the wall to stand on her own. The results of her attempt are the same as she stumbles forward and I reach out instinctively to grab her arm and pull her back to the safety wall before she faceplants on the hard floor. 

She exhales a low thanks, more out of surprise than genuine appreciation and adopts a puzzled look.

“What the hell…”

Kurt answers her open ended question with a pained expression, “That noise, the frequency, it’s still playing. It’s just gone beyond what you all can hear.” 

“Kurt? Are you alright?” Mercedes asks from her spot on the ground. Apparently they were no longer able to stand up either as Sam and Mercedes have joined Mike and Tina on the ground. Santana must have managed to make her way over to a wall because she is currently leaning heavily against it. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, holding a hand to his temple, the other placed firmly on the wall for support. “Just some slight discomfort but the frequency is holding steady now.”

“What the fuck is going on,” Santana exclaims from her spot. 

I glance around intently, also wanting to know the answer to the Latina’s question. 

Again Kurt answers, “I’m pretty sure the frequency is interfering with our inner ear.”

Sam quickly speaks up, “What's that mean?” 

“What it means, Trouty Mouth, is that our balance is screwed up.”

A few years ago I was diagnosed with an inner ear infection by the family doctor and he told me there was nothing to do but wait it out. He said I’d likely experience dizziness and vertigo. I experienced both. I had to grip the wall when climbing stairs and sometimes when I stood up I would feel as if I just stepped off a tilt-a-whirl.

However this experience is far more intense and I almost long for the ear infection.

“So what do we do?” Asks Tina. “I mean what's the objective for this part of the course. There's nothing in here except for the speakers.” 

We all pause and mull over and what Tina says. There really doesn't seem to be any clear objective here. The only door is the one we came through and there's nothing else in the room that indicates a way out. 

“Then we'll have to search the room for some kind of hint,” I supply hoping to motivate my group. 

“Search  _ what _ ?” Santana demands with attitude. “The room is empty there is nothing to search.”

Before I can form my reply Quinn speaks up from beside me. 

“S, you know as well as I do that Beiste’s obstacles aren't always what they seem.” She stares pointedly at her friend for a beat before continuing. “There has to be a way out that we haven't thought of yet.” 

She struggles to stand up straight and pointedly remarks, “So how about you help us look for a way out and curb the unnecessary side comments.” 

Santana looks at her friend with an odd expression and Quinn responds with an equally strange and unreadable one. Neither of them says anymore and Sam speaks up. 

“So I guess we’re searching for any kind of clue to get us out of here?”  

Everyone but Santana nods their heads and we set to work. 

Being unable to maintain our balance greatly slows us down. I'm sure to an outsider we look like a bunch of drunken idiots, unable to stay upright and moving with exaggerated motions. 

I imagine we would be quite amusing to watch.

I drag myself along the wall, heading towards the corner furthest from where we came in. As I approach I can see the beginnings of an outline on the wall, tall and rectangular.

A door! I call to the others and they make their way over as quickly as they can. Once they’ve all stumbled to a stop beside me I point to the door, it’s outline very faint and it’s obvious it was meant to blend in. 

“Well what are we waiting for?” Santana says and feels her way along the wall over to the door. When she reaches it she pulls the handle roughly but the door doesn’t open. 

“Great,” she drawls sarcastically while falling back against the door and leaning her head on it. 

“Wait! What’s that on the ground,” Tina points to spot a few feet from Santana. 

I have to squint to make it out but it looks like a pair of footprints painted on the ground. It’s very faded of course but it’s shape is obvious. 

“It’s a set of footprints!” I can’t help the excitement in my voice at the discovery even though I have no idea what the prints imply. “And there’s another set right there!” I point several feet behind the ones Tina found. “What do you guys think it means?” 

I can hear Kurt randomly humming from beside me but I think nothing of it, too excited with our new discovery. 

“I don’t know,” Sam answers. “Maybe we should stand on them and see what happens.” 

The blonde boy releases the wall he’d been gripping and shuffles carefully to the prints with his arms spread. He loses his balance once and falls forward, catching himself on his hands and struggles back up. When he reaches the prints he tries to steady himself enough to mimic the position of the prints, both feet needing to be close together, which only makes it harder to keep balanced. On his third try he’s able to get his feet in the right positions and the door suddenly makes a loud clunking sound as something within the door shifts. Santana yanks at the handle again but it still remains locked. 

Sam looks up and loses his bearings, causing him to fall sideways and off the prints. 

Whatever just previously moved within the door, fell back into place when Sam stepped off the prints. 

For the first time Santana supplies the group with a helpful comment instead of a spiteful one. “I think we’re all going to have to stand on a set of prints to get the door to unlock fully.” 

She glances around the group, almost daring someone to disagree with her. Fortunately we all think it’s a good idea and make to fan out in search of other sets of prints. 

“And for God’s sake Hummel, will you stop fucking humming, it’s annoying as hell!” 

“You all might not be able to hear the frequency anymore but I still can,” he spits back at the Latina with frustration. “The humming cancels it out.” 

“Well unless you can cancel out the frequency and its effects for all of us, shut the hel--”

“Santana wait,” Quinn cuts in, effectively stopping her friend from fully expressing her disdain. 

“Kurt,” she says, turning her attention to the teen. “If you can cancel out the frequency for yourself by humming, do you think you could do the same for all of us if you project it?” 

I watch the exchange with a befuddled expression. Why would Kurt’s humming be able to cancel out the frequency? 

Kurt thinks for a moment but is unsure in his answer. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve never tried it.” 

Quinn looks at him expectantly. 

“I can try but I can’t make any promises.” Kurt nods his head to himself then adds to Quinn, “But it’s going to be loud.” 

Quinn nods and addresses the rest of us in a commanding voice that send involuntary shivers down my spine. 

“Kurt is about to attempt to cancel out the frequency that interfering with our balance, if he is successful be ready to quickly find those other sets footprints. We don’t know long it might last.”

“I may not be able to fully cancel it out but hopefully I’ll at least be able to lessen the effects for you all.” He glances at us all one by one. “Get ready, it’s gonna get loud in here.” 

Everyone quickly covers theirs ears and I follow suit, unsure of what is about to happen but wanting to be prepared. 

Kurt breathes deeply a few times in preparation and I can feel my anticipation building. 

_ Today has been the most informative day of my life, and despite the challenging obstacles, I am still learning of other gifts that exist in the world and Kurt’s will just be another to add to the growing list.  _

On his last deep inhale, Kurt lets his mouth fall open. He exhales slowly but nothing happens.

I look around my group and they are all still tensed in anticipation. For what, I don’t know because nothing seems to be happening. 

I start to pull my hands from my ears but small pales ones shoot out and grab my wrists, holding them in place. Hazel eyes meet mine and she shakes her head no before securing her own hands back over her ears.

I stare back at Quinn with my head tilted and curiosity burning in my eyes. 

_ Why had she done that? Why was she worried about me at all when nearly all over her previous actions have indicated she couldn’t care less about me.  _

Suddenly a low sound is heard and I tear my eyes from the blonde in front of me over to Kurt. The sound steadily rises in pitch, much like when we first entered the room, but for some reason this sound is inexplicably harsher. It hurts my head more so than the first one did. 

Kurt continues to emit the sound, it growing louder and higher, nearly matching the pitch from early but just slightly off. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and apply more pressure to my ears, hoping it will somehow block out the piercing noise. It only grows louder. 

Just as Kurt’s frequency reaches an unbearable point, I feel someone bump my shoulder. I peel my eyes open and see Quinn standing next to me after just having shoulder bumped me to get my attention. She motions with her head to the center of the room--her hands still over her ears-- and I see everyone else has already found a set of footprints and is standing on them. 

Quinn leads me to one of the last sets and I take my spot, not failing to notice my equilibrium has restored itself during the process. 

Quinn quickly makes her way to her prints and plants herself on the marks. With all eight of us standing on our designated spots we turn towards Santana, who is located on the set of prints nearest to the door. 

Of course this time we can’t hear any sounds the door may make while unlocking but it’s evident it worked because when the Latina tries the knob again the door opens easily. 

The eight of us rush through the doorway but immediately come to a halt after we cross the threshold.

* * *

 


	8. First Day Pt 3

The eight of us push through the doorway but immediately come to a halt in the new room.

My hands fall from my ears only to be placed over my mouth as I choke back a gasp. My legs involuntarily move backwards until I collide with the smooth, hard surface of the wall. The heat hits us in merciless waves, flames soaring and lapping at the high-reaching ceiling.

“Holy hell,” Sam blurts out as his back smacks into the wall next to me. 

The remaining teens all back up and line the wall furthest from the flames laid out before us. 

This new room is set up like a county fair maze; trimmed hedges haphazardly streak across the space creating a network of narrow paths. However, unlike a county fair maze, the neatly trimmed hedges are fairly short…

And the tops of them are on fire!

_ Students sometimes get injured in PT? More like students sometimes get DEAD in PT. This is insane! _

The flames stretch up at least five feet, effectively blocking the paths and exit from view. Interestingly though, the blazing bushes aren’t creating any sort of smoke like you’d expect. The air in the room is remarkably clean, even though it’s sweltering.

Wandering through this dangerous, scorching labyrinth in order to find the exit seems to be goal for this part of the obstacle. The paths laid out before us are just wide enough for us to amble through but also narrow enough to keep the searing heat nipping at us. 

Even here, standing against the wall that’s several yards away, the heat is uncomfortable. Traversing through those narrow pathways—with no idea if we’re even going the right direction—will be unbearable. 

Tossing a glance towards my teammates I can see they’ve broken out in a sweat, same as I have. The heat coming off the fiery shrubs have caused beads of sweat to drip down all of our faces. Scanning down the line I see Sam and Mike wiping their dripping faces on the sleeves of their shirts. Kurt pulls off his designer vest and delicately dabs at his face while Mercedes makes fanning motions with her hands, though I doubt it’s doing a lick of good.

Santana however, just stands there casually with her arms crossed and leaning against the wall with a smirk on her face; no trace of sweat or even discomfort. 

“Well,” Quinn scolds her teammate, brushing a damp lock of hair from her face. “Are you going to handle this or am I?”

Santana rolls her eyes at the blonde but pushes off the wall and lazily strolls closer to the blistering flames. 

“Since you asked  _ so _ nicely, I guess I could help a teammate out.” Santana smiles sarcastically as she moves to face the fire. She stops mere steps from the flames then reaches her hand out, palm flat, towards the fire. 

Nothing happens for several seconds, and the heat coupled with anticipation nearly drives me insane. Finally I spot the flames shrinking, becoming smaller and weaker until they’re burning no higher than a flame on a match. I watch transfixed as Santana slowly moves her hand, the significantly smaller flames now dancing through the air towards her outstretched palm. Once all the flames have settled, the raven-haired girl angles her hand inward and a small ball of fire rests in her cupped palm. 

She turns to face us and shoots us a peeved look, “You’re welcome,” she quips and snaps her hand shut, effectively extinguishing the fireball. 

_ Santana...the queen of mean...apparently has the ability to manipulate fire...Well this day just keeps getting more and more educational, as well as fascinating and even a little bit terrifying. Santana possesses a fiery attitude  _ and  _ gift? That’s alarming. _

The heat in the room is gone and though we’re still sticky with sweat, a feeling of relief washes through the room; I don’t think anybody wanted to roam the labyrinth from hell. 

We all speedily and easily make our way through the maze, now that the tops are no longer blazing we can clearly see which path to take to the exit. 

As we make our way through the path, a limb from a shrub brushes my arm and I realize the hedges aren’t even real! They’re made from some other material— probably heat resistant—that's been shaped and painted like hedges. I run my hand along the top of a hedge and feel that it’s coated with some oily substance, no doubt something flammable, and chuckle to myself.

As we file through the exit, readying ourselves for the next obstacle I pause in the doorway, effectively halting Sanatana who is right behind me. 

“What’s the holdup Yentl,” the Latina demands, “We’re in the lead and I’d like to keep it that way. I needs me them 20 credits.”

Forcing down the twinge of anger that threatens to rise I respond, “I’m going to ignore yet another one of your insults and instead suggest something that may actually help us maintain our lead.”

Santana crosses her arms and exhales, looking at me expectantly, “Well?”

“Considering you’ve just put out the fire in this room, the next team to make it through that door won’t have to do anything but waltz right on through and to the exit,” I warn and lower my voice conspiringly, “Unless, we set fire to the hedges again and make them figure it out for themselves.” 

A flash of surprise crosses Santana’s features before something a little more chilling takes up residence on her face. The only way to describe the look the Latina now bears is the face of a cat that just ate the canary. 

Santana raises her hand again, this time starting with it already made into a fist. She slowly unclenches her hand, a bright orange ball forming, swelling bigger as she opens her hands wider. With a Grinch like smile on her face and orange flames reflecting in her eyes, she throws the flame from her hand, hitting a hedge perfectly. The flame travels along the length of the hedges until the maze is alight with fire once again. 

“Maybe you aren’t as bad as I thought,” the raven-haired girl admits and turns to leave the burning room but stops a few steps short. “Or good,” she smirks and leaves me standing alone. 

_ That was...something…a compliment of some sort? A backhanded one perhaps? Either way it’s a nice change from her usual approach, not that I expect it to ever happen again. _

I have to speed walk to catch up to the rest of the group but when I do they’re all standing stock still, staring at something at the far end of the room. Coming up next to them I see what they’re leering at, a large white banner with the word ‘finish’ painted messily on it. Beneath the banner stands a pedestal with a vibrant green button and a table with some items on it. 

“We’re almost there,” I hear Sam exclaim, “We’re almost to the end! We’re gonna win!”

I share the blonde boy’s enthusiasm but not his optimism.

Between us and the finish line lies a mud trench the length of a school bus and its depths undeterminable from here. There’s no way around it, only through it...Rachel Barbra Berry is not too fond of getting dirty.

I cast a glance towards Sam and see his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I don’t mind getting a little dirty for 20 credits, do you?” He bends down, untying his shoes and removing his socks. “I grew up playing in the mud, this is gonna be a piece of cake.” 

“Well then, by all means Biebs, go for it,” Santana instigates. 

Sam ignores her and rolls up the legs of his pants. “You know we all have to be on the other side of this if we want to win,” Sam articulates, “If I hit that button and I’m the only one over there, it’s not gonna mean anything.”

The blonde boy stands upright again and throws Santana a pointed stare, “It’s all or nothing.”

Crossing her arms defiantly the Latina replies, “Why don’t you get us started then?”

Sam sends me an excited smile and takes his first step into the mud. His foot only sinks up to his ankle in the filth which isn’t too bad. He carefully takes a few more steps, venturing further out into the muck. When the blonde tries to place his foot for another step, his entire leg plummets into the mud, which throws him off balance and topples him forward.

The mud is apparently deeper than we thought because Sam is almost completely submerged now, up to his shoulders and sinking quickly. 

A medley of voices call out to the blonde, wanting to help but not knowing how. I vaguely hear Santana cackling behind me but I’m too absorbed in trying to find a way to help Sam to pay her any mind.

“Guys,” he sputters, “I can’t get out! It’s too thick, I can’t kick my legs.” Sam flails his arms around trying to find something to grab but coming up empty.

“Hold on to my arms,” Mike interjects, stretching his arms over the mud and out to where Sam still flails. I stand there motionless, heart beating out of my chest, hoping that Mike can pull Sam back to safety.

Thankfully he does and as Sam lays covered in mud on the floor, breathing heavily he explains, “There’s like a ledge or something there. You can only walk so far and then it just drops off.” The blonde boy whips his hair around, flinging droplets of the sludge in the process.

“Oh god,” Santana heaves loudly trying to catch her breath, “You have no idea how badly I needed that.” She wipes a pretend tear from her eye and clutches her stomach. “No seriously, I’ve been needing a good laugh and you,” she shakes her head still sniggering, “And you made it happen. So thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” 

“Give it a rest Satan,” Mercedes defends, “You may think this is funny but he did this so  _ you _ ,” she gestures to Santana then the whole group, “So  _ we _ could win. Show a little respect.” 

“Are you seriously trying to tell me,” the Latina places her hand on her chest in gesture, “That I need to respect him? Ha!” Santana stalks towards the darker girl but is stopped short by a pale arm shoved in her path. 

“Simmer down S,” Quinn mutters distractedly while staring at the mud with her head cocked.

This whole time the blonde girl has been preoccupied with the mud, staring at it contemplatively, gaze never wandering. I’m honestly surprised she was even paying enough attention to realize a verbal smackdown was about to take place.

“Q, if you don’t move your pasty arm outta my way in the next five seconds…” Santana threatens with a glare thrown Quinn’s way.

“I think I can get us across,” she states, letting her arm fall back to her side. The blonde turns and finally looks Santana in the eye, “You do want to get across right?”

The Latina scowls at Mercedes but exhales loudly and steps over to Quinn’s side. “Whatdaya got Q?”

From my spot kneeling next to Sam, I watch with rapt attention as Quinn raises her arm in a similar fashion to Santana. Quinn keeps her palm facing down and her fingers spread as she concentrates on the mud. 

My heart beats rapidly in anticipation and I can’t seem to pull my eyes off her despite the chill that runs down my spine. 

Quinn still hasn’t done anything, her arm remains outstretched over the mud pit and I shiver again, running my hands up and down my arms for heat.

_ Wait. Why am I cold? We literally just left a burning room, I was sweating still when we got in here. _

All of a sudden I hear a small cracking sound. The cracking sound spreads, growing louder as it does and I gasp when I glance down to see the mud pit freezing over. With wide eyes I watch the ice form, a kind of beauty in it as the surface stills and becomes solid. 

Quinn lowers her arm gracefully and looks over her shoulder to the rest of us, “Let’s go.”

Mike immediately stretches across—opting out of the possibility of slipping and falling—and is standing on the other side waiting for us. Tina teleports across and stands by Mike’s side.

Santana leads the way with careful measured steps, Kurt, Mercedes, and Sam right behind her and me and Quinn trailing behind. 

Each step I take is painstakingly precise, not wanting to fall and bust my ass in front of everyone, but apparently my steps aren’t precise enough because about halfway through I lose my footing and slip. 

However, before I tumble to the ground Quinn reaches her arms out and steadies me. 

I gape at her surprised, completely forgetting to thank her for saving my ass. Literally.

“Back in the frequency room,” she says, loosening her grip on my bicep. “You kept me from falling.” The blonde glances down quickly then back up, releasing my arm completely, “I owed you for that.” 

Without another word Quinn continues walking, at a slightly faster pace than before, leaving me behind to stumble along alone.

When we’ve all reached the end of the frozen mud pit, it's just a short walk to the finish line. Sam is overeager and takes off in a jog towards the green button that will signal our win. A mere yard away from victory and Sam hits a wall...literally.

The boy smacks into some kind of invisible wall, effectively halting our victory and sending him toppling back onto his butt. 

“Ow,” he exclaims from his spot on the ground, rubbing his forehead.

“Of course,” Santana expels irritatedly. “The Beiste never makes it easy.”

Helping Sam to his feet Mike chimes in, “Well, she did say this was a seven piece course. We’ve only gone through six obstacles so far.”

“The wall, the wires, the scanner,” Mercedes counts off. 

“The frequency, the fire and the mud,” Kurt continues.

“Six down, one to go,” Sam finishes still rubbing his head. 

“So what is this,” I quirey, “I thought I saw something flash when Sam hit...whatever this is, but there’s nothing now.”

I know I’m not crazy, I definitely saw some kind of green flash where Sam fell but standing next to him now I don’t see anything. 

Quinn stretches her arm out experimentally, moving it carefully around the spot that Sam smashed into. Her hand makes contact and flattens out against an unseen surface. A transparent green light emanates from where her hand is pressed and pulses in a straight line down both sides of the room, completely cutting us off from the finish. 

“It’s a force field of some kind,” Quinn supplies, continuing to tap along it. Each time her hand comes into contact with the force field a quick green light pulses along the length of it before disappearing. 

“Any idea what kind of field it is or how to get around it,” asks Sam as he also reaches out to touch it. 

“Nope,” is all the blonde says and steps away.

I look past the apparent force field and to the victory button. 

_ We’re so close! We just have to find a way around or through or maybe find a way to disable it. _

I scan the area in front of me, taking note of the table and items on it—water bottles and towels mostly— and the wall behind it. Almost directly behind the pedestal on the wall there’s a small lever that is clearly labeled with ‘on’ and ‘off’. The lever is pulled up in the ‘on’ position so if we can somehow pull the lever down it should shut the force field off and we could cross over to the finish line. 

“Tina,” I call out looking for the Asian girl, a plan rapidly forming. “There’s a lever over there behind the pedestal that,” I point it out for the girl and group to see. “Do you think you could teleport over there and pull the lever? It might bring down the field so we can pass.” 

“She’s right,” Quinn agrees, seeing the lever and coming to the same conclusion.

Tina looks around nervously, not used to being in the spotlight. “Y-yeah sure,” she stutters. “I can try.”

Sam and I send her encouraging smiles while Mike squeezes her arm supportively. “You’ve got this,” he whispers in her ear. 

Tina nods her head determined before focusing on the lever. We all hold our breath, hoping this will work and without warning the girl vanishes from sight. Breathlessly, we all stare at the lever, expecting Tina to appear there but a few moments later she reappears standing in the same spot as before. 

“What the hell,” Sanatana frowns.

Tina looks just as surprised as the rest of us. “I don’t know what happened guys. I should have teleported over there.” She glances at Mike with worry written plainly on her face. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, “Just give it another try.”

Tina tries a couple more times but the same thing happens every time. 

“I’m sorry guys,” she apologizes, “I don’t think I can get past this force field. There’s something about it that’s blocking me.” 

Santana releases an irritated sigh and balls her hand into a fist. When she opens it a ball of flames is resting in her palm and I look at her questioningly. 

“What,” she snaps, “If Asian number one can’t get to the other side we’ve got to try something else.” 

Shrugging my shoulders I concede to Santana’s point, we don’t have any other ideas so this one is as good as any. 

Santana hurls a few fireballs at the force field but they just steam out when they make contact. The displeased Latina lets out a frustrated growl and rounds on me. 

“Alright Hobbit, let’s see what you’ve got,” she goads. “Everyone else here has contributed today, or at least attempted to. I haven’t seen jackshit from you yet.” 

For a brief moment I’m stunned, caught off guard by the demand but my shock quickly wears off and I’m left feeling offended and somewhat embarrassed. 

_ As much as it irks me to admit, Santana is right, I haven’t done much of anything to help our team. I mean sure, I spotted the lever just now and I found the door in the frequency room earlier but those things would have been found eventually. I haven’t brought anything to the table to offer my team.  _

I grit my teeth trying to ignore the insults and force down my embarrassment, “I don’t know what I could possibly do right now to help. I can’t control my gift well enough for it to be useful.” 

“But it could be useful?” Quinn butts into the conversation with her eyebrows drawn in question, “If you could control it, could it be useful right now?”

I stammer momentaily, “I-I, um…”

My wide eyes find Sam and he yells excitedly, “Dude! You could totally pull the lever from over here!” 

_ No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not helping Sam! _

“No! I can’t Sam,” I quickly counter. “I don’t have control over it.”

The blonde boy looks like an excited puppy as his plan comes together in his mind. 

“But Rach,” he starts, “When you get mad, you can use your gift! Can’t you just...I dunno...like, get mad or something then aim for the lever?” 

I shake my head at him disbelievingly. 

_ Even if I’m able to summon up enough anger, there’s no way to know what will happen. I don’t know how to channel it into pulling the lever! The effects of my gift are unknown to me. Maybe I could get the lever to move...or maybe I could send someone flying across the room. I have no idea what the outcome could be. _

“Sam, I don’t think I’d be able to control what happens,” I tell him. “The results are too unpredictable.” 

The blonde boy looks stricken and his eyes are downcast. I can’t help but feel like I let him down. I want to be useful and help but I don’t think I can.

“What if I helped you,” Quinn inserts. Seven sets of eyes snap to the blonde in surprise. Santana stares at her friend like she's just grown a second head. “Look, I want the 20 credits for finishing first,” she defends, “If that means helping the midget, so be it.”

Immediately I feel my face flush with anger and something else...disappointment maybe? I don’t know and I don’t have time to dwell on it because Santana jumps in jeering, “How do you plan on helping her Q? It’s clear to me she’s useless. Has been all class.”

I suck in a deep breath to try and calm myself. I flex my hands in and out of fists, hoping it will dispel some of my anger. It doesn’t.

The Latina smirks, flips her hair then turns her back to me; choosing to face the force field instead. 

“Forget the hobbit, we’ll figure out another way to win,” she dismisses, reaching out to touch the final obstacle. 

Quinn’s eyes light up as she smirks and circles around me, eyes running the length of my body, watching me, judging me. Both of my arms shake in restraint as I try my hardest to hold it in. 

_ They’re purposely trying to make me mad, they think if I get mad I’ll be able to pull the lever. But they don’t understand! They don’t realize the potential consequences. _

“Stop,” I grind out. “Just stop.” 

Quinn comes to a stop behind me and speaks lowly near my ear.

“Is Santana right,” the blonde asks. “Are you really as useless as you seem?” 

“I’m not useless,” I force out between clenched teeth. I know this is their plan but one thing I  _ hate _ being called is useless.

_ I am a lot of things, I will own up to that. I can be loud, annoying, selfish, standoffish, rude. I am a lot of things…but one thing I am not and will never be is useless.  _

Sanatana casts a glance over her shoulder and makes a disbelieving noise, “You’re not fooling anyone Yentl. You’re as useless as they come.”

“I am  _ not  _ useless,” I repeat feeling my emotions reach the tipping point. It's inevitable now, they got what they want, consequences be damned. The last threads of control are slipping through my fingers. 

“Then prove it,” Quinn rasps, hot air tickling the shell of my ear. She speaks in a surprisingly neutral voice as she moves imperceptibly closer. “Take that anger you're feeling and visualize it. Give it a form and visualize it flowing to your fingertips.” 

I feel the jolt travel though my body but I clench my eyes shut and listen to the blonde. I imagine the anger as red hot lava flowing through my veins. I picture it leaving my chest and pooling in my fingertips… and I actually feel it! I feel vibrations in my body all travelling down the lengths of my arms and settling in my hands. 

“Good,” she whispers. “Now open your eyes.”

I force myself to open my eyes and exhale heavily, trying to keep in control. Just as the room comes into view I feel the length of Quinn’s front push into my back. She gently takes my arm and guides it until it’s held out in front of me. 

My heartbeat races even faster at the contact threatening to break out of my chest.  

“Now visualize the anger leaving your hand. See it flow from your fingertips and grasp the lever.”

I follow the instructions and gasp the results. I see it! I actually  _ see _ an ethereal light leave my hand and settle over the lever. I involuntarily clench my hand, holding it as if I really had the lever in it. 

“Are you visualizing it, Rachel?” The blonde still has a loose grip on my arm, holding it steady as she questions me. 

_ Can she not see it? Can any of them see the light that’s settled atop the lever? _

“Yes,” is all I can manage to breath out.

“Good. Now pull,” Quinn exhales, slowly dragging my arm down with hers. 

Amazingly the lever moves with our movements. With my movements!  

_ I did it! I really did it! _

A shaky sigh falls from my lips as Quinn quickly releases my arm and takes a few steps back. 

The force field falls with an audible buzz and my teammates rush to the pedestal, well everyone except Quinn and I. 

The anger I previously felt is gone and in its place is pure awe. I’m still stunned by what just happened so I glance over to Quinn and our eyes connect for a split second and I see the same awe reflected in her eyes. Though as quickly as it came, it disappears and she joins our team at the pedestal.

Sam motions for me to join them and when I reach the brilliant green button we all share a look of triumph before slapping our hands down in victory. 


End file.
